


Back in Winterfell

by thewolfhoundandlittlebird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Fantasy - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Arya/Gendry - Freeform, Body Appreciation, Consentual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Hot Tub, I Don't Even Know, Lemon, Love, Masturbation, POV Sandor, POV Sansa, Queen Sansa, Sexual Content, Sleepy Sex, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Sansa/Sandor, Spying, Stargazing, aww finally!, but awesome nonetheless, everyone's favorite ship, for the night is dark and full of kisses, hot tubbing, mmm men, not even remotely canon, sandor crying, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfhoundandlittlebird/pseuds/thewolfhoundandlittlebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa enjoys Wintefell's hot springs, but so does an unexpected visitor.</p>
<p>Gratuitous body appreciation & lemons in later chapters. Lots of happy fluff & Good Guy Sandor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Days like these she cherished the most. The quiet solitude of the morning, so still before everyone else woke up. It was as if the North was holding its breath, waiting for the sun to rise through the columns of steam drifting through the cold air. Sansa slid off of the shallow bench in the hot spring tub she was soaking in, letting the hot water cover her head and tug her hair into serpentine coils under the surface. _Gods, it felt good to just not do anything_.

 

The war for the North had been hard-won. There had been countless men lost and even more damage done to Winterfell. As she walked through the gates of her ancestral home, for the first time since she had left for King's Landing when she was no more than a child, what stood before her had been just shy of ruins. Only through the generous help of those left standing was it able to be rebuilt, but what stood now was twice as strong as before. Just like her. She had found that she had needed to be torn down to rebuild herself into something stronger, something worthy of the silver crown that now graced her auburn locks. The weight of it was more than she had imagined, not just with the material of its construction, but with the lives that had been given to secure its foundations.

 

She surfaced, the late winter air instantly chilling her face as the water dripped down from her hair. Long fingers ran down her face, pulling the water away from her eyes. Her eyelashes stuck together in wet clumps and her hair, the color deepened by the mineral rich water, splayed out around her, floating on the surface.

 

Nymeria sat just above and behind her, on the ledge under the cedar tree branches that hung heavy with the last remnants of snow. She often followed her around now. She'd been gone since Arya had chased her off into the woods at the inn, afraid for the consequences of biting a Prince. When they reclaimed Winterfell, she had emerged from the tree line, followed by a pack of twenty strong direwolves and had immediately flung herself upon Arya. They had not seen each other for years, but the bond was as strong as it ever was. With Arya holed up in her room, enjoying the pleasure of having recently acquired a husband, Nymeria was left to guard the other wolf sister. Sansa knew she preferred being with Arya, but accepted the company and extra security nonetheless. Her ears perked up at the sounds that only canine ears are able to hear from so far away. She remained calm, though, languidly watching the approaching man as the footsteps grew louder and he arrived at the bottom of the terrace of hot spring pools. _No need to be alarmed, Nymeria. He is of your kin, too._ She had taken quite quickly to Sandor. Sansa figured it must have had something to do with the kennelmaster's blood in his veins, the affection he always showed to creatures. _Especially little bird_ _s._ Nymeria made no move to get up, instead placing her heavy head on her paws and drifting back off to sleep, one ear perked up should anyone else approach.

 

Sandor moved about at the foot of the terraced hill, setting a sheet and soap on a rock close to the pool he was eyeing, apparently unaware that anyone else was there. The sun was rising now, just poking above the mountains in the distance, setting everything it touched aflame in golden light. She swam over to the ledge of her pool, cautious not to make any sound lest she scare him off. He was still a wary creature, though she noticed that her prayers to calm the rage in his heart had mercifully been answered. He slowly stripped off his mail shirt and swordbelt, letting them fall in a soft clamor of metal near to the pool he stood by. Next was the tunic, which to her surprise, he neatly folded and placed atop the mail. She supposed it was wise, so the snow underfoot didn't creep into the fabric and soil it while he was bathing. He crouched at the edge of the water, dipping his large hand into it to judge its temperature. Seemingly satisfied, he rose, and regrettably, turned from her eyesight to work at the ties of his breeches. The muscles in his broad shoulders flexed and tensed as he loosened the clothing, pushing them down the tree trunks of his legs. He stooped, stepping out of the legs, and the sunlight caught on his back, making the skin there look at once like it was made of gold and onyx, the warm light skimming over the tops of the raised muscles, the bumps of his scars, but leaving the valley of his spine in shadow. He slowly lowered himself into the pool, hands clasped to the edges and elbows bent in angles as he supported his weight. The water rippled around him as he dunked all of his body under the water, bobbing back up after a few seconds under.

 

Sansa couldn't take her eyes away. _Gods, he's a beautiful man._ She was surprised he hadn't noticed that she was there yet, but she meant to make the most of his inattention. Her hands found the rounded edge of the pool, forming a shelf for her chin. She sighed, content for now to just watch him, peaceful in the morning light and relaxed at his task. Though the growing heat in her belly made her all the more aware of what watching him was doing to her.

 

He stood, the water just coming to the underside of his hipbones, still exposing the beginning of the curve of his arse before the water consumed it. One good stretch to the side and the soap was in his hand, plucked from the rock it was perched on. Lather from the soap foamed as he scrubbed it into his inky black hair, before being splashed away to cascade down his back. It pooled at the juncture of his body and the steaming water around him, and floated away over the edge of the terrace. He didn't take much time to clean the rest of himself, hurriedly sliding the bar of soap over his skin to lessen the time it was exposed to the cold air of the morning. He sank back down, resting his head on the edge of the pool, letting his legs float out in front of him. The look on his face was one of absolute contentment, the ruined side of his face almost unnoticeable under his relaxation. He folded his hands across his stomach, lacing his fingers to keep them together before closing his eyes. She could see the expanse of his chest rise and fall slowly with his deep breaths, the hair there swaying slowly with the current. Her eyes drifted over his chest, following the trail of soft black hair lower, lower, until it rested on the flesh at the juncture of his legs, bobbing gently as the water moved around him. Her hand followed the path down her belly that she wanted desperately to trace down his, slipping easily between her folds. It was a swift release, a long time building since she had last allowed herself the pleasure. She tried her best to muffle the moan that escaped her lips, hurriedly plunging her face under the water to mask the sound. But it was too late, it had been loud enough to wake Nymeria, and when she surfaced from the warm water, she saw her trotting off back to the castle, annoyed at the disruption in her slumber. _Shit_. She hazarded a glance down at Sandor, who _praise the gods_ still had his head back, ears under the water. She relaxed again, pushing herself away from the edge and back onto the bench at the other side of the pool. Her breathing steadied, no longer coming out in hot puffs of air as it had just a few moments ago.

 

Her eyelids lazily slid closed, the still bright sunlight illuminating them from behind. _This is peace_. She had just started to drift off to sleep when she heard him clear his throat from down below. Her muscles tensed, willing herself not to make a sound.

 

“Enjoying yourself up there, Little Bird?” His voice rang up over the terrace, breaking the silence of the otherwise still morning.

 

 _Shit_.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm, warm baths. They just loosen you right up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo, sorry, guys, that was a long one.

* * *

It had been an awkward morning for true after that.

 

Sansa had found herself absolutely glued to the bench in her hot spring pool, silently praying to whatever gods would listen that if she didn't make any sound, he would simply carry on, finish his bath, and never mention it to her. He had, in part. But the gods had a cruel sense of humor, and after dinner had finished that night, he sidled up to her as she was leaving the hall. He hadn't said anything about it all day, but she still found herself avoiding his eyes during all of their joint meetings. By the time the sun had set, she had convinced herself that she was just being foolish. She was the queen, after all, and if she wanted to stare at his naked form whenever the occasion happened to present itself, well, then she was going to. Her resolve all but evaporated when his elbow caught her shoulder, gently nudging for her attention.

 

“Did you enjoy your bath this morning, my queen?” His deep voice oozed the amusement he so clearly found in the situation. She looked up, willing herself to finally make eye contact with him. There was a smile in his eyes. _Happiness suits him_. He was so different than the man she had met on her way to court, and she was glad of it. He didn't chide her for being a stupid child anymore, but she could tell that he wasn't going to let this opportunity pass. She refused to just give it to him, though.

 

“Why, yes, I did. The handmaidens were extra attentive this morning and had my bath waiting for me when I woke up,” she grinned up at him, knowing that try as she might, she was still such a terrible liar. He would see right through it, surely.

 

If he did, he didn't let on, rolling easily with the direction she was pushing the conversation. “Oh, must have been my mistake. Nymeria must have just been up there on her own. I know how she _loves_ -” he put extra stress on the word “-being away from either of you two. Only explanation.” She couldn't be sure in the dim lighting of the hall, but she could have sworn that he winked at her. “Well, mayhaps I will run into her another morning, and she would be more willing to enjoy each other's company.”

 

She hadn't noticed that they'd arrived at her quarters, hadn't really known that she was walking toward them- that _they_ were walking toward them. _Fine, if you want to play that game…_ “Mayhaps you will, ser.” She smiled coyly at him before disappearing into her chambers.

 

“I'll keep an eye out for her, my queen,” he rasped, so quiet that had anyone else been in the hall with them, they wouldn't have been able to hear it. The shivers it sent down her spine were intoxicating.

 

It was several minutes of standing on the other side of her door, waiting to hear his retreating bootsteps before she was able to stop blushing so furiously. In all truth, she really couldn't wait until the next morning, when the hot springs would be deserted again, and she desperately hoped that he might not be able to, too.

 

 

* * *

 

It was almost silly, the little amount of sleep she got that night. She was too excited to be able to get to the springs the next morning, anticipating what she would say. All night, she ran through scenarios in her head, how she would finally confront him about the fact that she _knew_ that he wanted her, yet never did anything about it. She could picture it. By the time she finally settled down enough to let her eyes close and her body relax, it was nigh sunrise and she accidentally slept right through when she meant to get up.

 

There was a soft knock on her door once warm sunlight was pouring in through the leaded glass windows of her chamber.

 

“Your grace?” It was her handmaiden, come to braid her hair for the day and help her into her dress.

 

“Oh, gods, what time is it?” She rubbed her eyes, suddenly in a panic that she had missed the very thing that she had been up all night thinking about.

 

“I reckon about mid-morning, your grace. I brought you some food to break your fast,” she raised the tray of food in her hands. “We missed you in the hall this morning. Are you well?” She fluttered about the room, setting the tray down on the dark wooden table under the window. Busy hands fussed over the clothes in her wardrobe, pulling out a few selections for Sansa to choose from. The queen nodded her head at one of the dresses, a simple, but elegant light blue shift with its accompanying navy blue dress coat. It had been her mothers. Tully fish were embroidered and beaded along the neckline, and it was appropriately conservative of the proper lady she was.

 

Her thoughts were pulled back to the previous morning, how improper it had been of her to have been bathing so freely- in a public space, no less. But she couldn't deny herself the pleasure of the warm water that seemed to soothe her very bones. And certainly the entertainment that had arrived. It wasn't like he had _seen her_ like she had him. She reasoned that no harm had really come from it… tried to convince herself of as much, at least.

 

“Your grace?” The handmaiden's voice shook her from her daydream, forcing her back into the present.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“How would you like your hair today, my grace?”

 

“Oh. Just pull it back. A simple braid will do, thank you.” Deft fingers gently pulled and tugged at her long auburn hair, quickly assembling it in a plait running down the length of her back. The end was secured with a leather cord, and the handmaiden went to fetch her crown. _I don't know why I have to wear it all the time. It seems rather redundant._ She allowed her to place it carefully on her head, and waited until she excused herself from the room before she took it back off again and rested it on its pillow of silver cloth.

 

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed by rather uneventfully. It was midweek, which meant that most of it was spent inspecting the few construction projects that were still going on. One of which was a proper training ground for the new squires in her service. The grounds were far removed from the main buildings, allowing for further building to take place should the need arise. By the time that she arrived, Arya, Gendry, and Sandor were leaning on the fence posts that enclosed the training arena. Arya called out commands to the training boys, forever encouraging them to try out _dancing_ , as she called it. Gendry and Sandor were silent, the former inspecting his work on the blunted swords, watching how they moved in the boys' hands. The latter mostly observed, but occasionally called out pointers when they slipped up. Her heart warmed as she neared them, seeing them all finally together, so many years apart and so many hardships passed.

 

“Sansa!” Arya noticed her approach and ran to her, throwing her arms around her neck and pulling her down for a hug. It would have been so unlike the sisters when they were children to show such affection, but after being separated for so long, each realized the importance of enjoying the other's company.

 

“Little sister,” Sansa looked down at her younger sibling, “are you enjoying being newly married?”

 

Arya threw a glance back at Gendry, who smiled in return with adoring eyes. “Yes, quite a bit. Though I am a bit… sore...” _Oh, sister, how forward you are_. She gave a slight squeeze to her arm and slowly walked over to Sandor. He towered over the other two, but Sansa managed to meet his shoulder.

 

She grabbed hurriedly at the thoughts swirling around in her mind, trying to think of something to breach conversation. The loud clash of training swords spurred her on, “How are the boys faring? Is their training coming along?” She felt a little foolish asking, for she could see that every day they were improving under the watchful eyes of the three people around her.

 

He was silent for a time, mulling over his words and observing the boys a little longer. “Aye, they're shaping up nicely. Though I hope we've no need of them. Seems like a waste of training, but I'd much rather see them grow old and have no need of their skills than to have to bury them on a battlefield.” His words were solemn, but held true. She wished the same.

 

His cheeks raised slightly as a devilish grin spread across his lips. “I missed the wolf at the baths today.” He paused before offering her a consolation, seeing the blush and the crestfallen look flash across her face. “I'm sure I'll have need of another one tonight. All this training,” he waved his hand with lackluster enthusiasm at the new squires in front of them.

 

She turned, leaning an elbow on the poles of the fence, hushing her voice so only he could hear. “Is that an invitation, ser?”

 

His eyebrows raised at the title. “You and your pomp. It might be. Could be.” His voice teased, but his body lured. He rested his weight on the fence next to her, raising his bad leg onto one of the lower rungs. It took all of her effort not to follow the line of his stretched back down to the breeches now enticingly tight over that curve she was eyeing the day before. _He knows damn well what he does to me._

 

She smiled, nodded slightly and bid the trio a good afternoon before heading back to the castle proper, all the while trying as hard as she could not to look back at him. _He'll know for true, then, and I'll be done for. The teasing would never stop._

 

* * *

 

Evening had fallen, giving way to a pitch black sky. Not even the moon shone her light that night, and Sansa took twice as long reaching the hot springs, illuminated only by one fat candle. She wagered that a big one would be better than the dipped tapered candles she was accustomed to carrying; she wasn't sure how long the night would be.

 

Close to an hour had passed before she heard his familiar footsteps approaching, one leg a little slower to catch up to the other from his limp. She'd set the candle far enough away from the pool she floated in, avoiding making the water too transparent. The light flickered off of it nicely, reflecting the flames back up and covering her body from any eyes that might wander over to her pool.

 

“Decided to turn up this time?” His voice rumbled from deep in his chest, almost as dark as the night.

 

“As did you.”

 

To her surprise, he'd moved up to the pool just beneath her, infinitely closer than the previous morning. She turned, shielding her eyes and giving him some semblance of privacy while he peeled off his clothes and dropped into the pool. She let herself curl into the bench and rested her head along the edge, eyes drifting up to the night sky. A little nervousness fluttered across her tummy, just briefly, as she tried to think of some topic of conversation. All the things she had thought of before had either escaped her or seemed _much too forward_ to bring up as something to start with.

 

A heavy sigh came from the pool below as he stretched out, letting the warm water loosen his muscles. For a moment, it was nice to just sit in silence with him, and it occurred to her that it might just serve to sit like this for the rest of the night, silently enjoying being in the presence of each other's company without feeling the need to say anything.

 

“Do you know any of the constellations, little bird?”

 

She thought about it for a moment, scouring the sky above her for anything that she recognized, but nothing came to her. All of her septa's lessons had been on feminine things. _Embroidery, the house sigils, the history of the houses, how to be a proper lady_ , they all served their purpose, yes, but nothing worth talking about, really. Nothing useful in conversation. “No,” she admitted, feeling instantly deficient.

 

“See that one just over the horizon? Back toward the castle,” water dripped off his arm as he lifted it to point where he was indicating. Curiosity got the best of her and she swam over to the ledge, lifting her head just enough that her eyes were over the top of it. She followed his arm, seeing the bright red star just over the hilltops in the distance.

 

“That one's the Warrior. The red point is part of his belt. See the other stars around it?” It was difficult to focus her eyes on something so far away, but as she stared at it, a few other stars appeared around it. She nodded, her head barely even detectable over the ledge.

 

“The rest of the stars around it make up his body. It takes some imagination, but if you look at it long enough, he looks like he's raising a sword on his right.” Indeed, it did. She'd never noticed before, but if she tried, she could imagine him standing on top of the hills in the distance, the implement raised above his head.

 

“How'd you learn about him?”

 

“Spend a lot of time on horseback, having to navigate sometimes. He doesn't move, so it's an easy reference point. That's north. The wall's way up there in the distance.” He waved his hand indicating just how far that was, sending droplets of water cascading through the air. The steam columns coiled at the sudden interruption.

 

“Sometimes I wish my septa had taught me more useful things,” she sheepishly admitted. _Gods, I'm still such a little girl._

 

He paused, weighing the words of his response. “I'm sure she taught you plenty of useful things. Whatever you learned from her seemed to get you this far.”

 

“I suppose that's true. But she wasn't the only one that taught me things. Some people-” she searched through the dim light of the candle until she met his grey eyes, “-taught me far more useful things. I probably wouldn't have survived this long if it weren't for you.” She felt incredibly silly for admitting it, but she meant every word that came out of her mouth. Truly, she probably wouldn't have survived King's Landing if he hadn't forced his advice on her.

 

“Just wish perhaps I would have been kinder about about teaching those lessons.” That was unexpected. She didn't take him for a man of much introspection, much regret.

 

“I think you did what was necessary.”

 

“I scared you. I still remember the way you looked at me. Always afraid.”

 

“Sandor,” she drew the last syllable out, pouring her reassurances into it. “You did what was necessary to keep me alive.” She paused, like he had before, thinking over the right words. Harshness was not what she was going for. “True, I was easily scared back then. I'd known nothing other than my beautiful knights and fair maidens from my songs. Life was poetry to me then. But I think we've both come a long way from that.”

 

She slid her arm over the slippery ledge, easily finding his calloused hand floating on the surface. She clasped it, pondering for a moment how the simple gesture suddenly seemed so intimate. Perhaps it wouldn't have been if it weren't coupled with the fact that their naked bodies were only separated by a few feet of stone ledge. “Sometimes the worst appearances hide the best souls.” She gave his hand a squeeze and released, intending to retract her arm back into the warm water. But he didn't let go.

 

She looked over at him, seeing his brow furrowed and his eyes intently on their hands.

 

“Not always true. Some beauties are met with equally exquisite souls. Those are the lucky ones. The rare ones.”

 

“Sandor Clegane, you never cease to astonish me. You may have come a long way since the man in King's Landing, but I never took you for a poet.” She couldn't resist the easy jab, even as she turned his words over and over, repeating them in his deep voice in her head.

 

They were quiet again, each looking at their still-clasped hands under the water.

 

“Ser-”

 

“Little bird.”

 

“My arm is growing rather cold in this chilly night air.” She moved to take it back, to warm her skin once more in the water, but he wouldn't let go.

 

“You could come down here. This water's warm, too.”

 

“That would be terribly improper.”

 

“So is what we're doing now… No one else is around, and I'll keep my hands to myself, I promise.” _A dog will die for you, but never lie to you._

 

She considered for a moment. _What the hells._ “Avert your eyes, good ser.” She waited until he raised his other hand to cover his eyes, feigning drama as he threw his head to the side, making sure it was clear that he could not see her. He let go of her hand, and she pushed up on the edge of the terrace.

 

It was easy to slide over the edge of the pool, and she landed with a messy splash in the one below her. She pushed herself to the side opposite him, extending her legs to determine the amount of space around her. She didn't feel him. _This pool is bigger than I thought._

 

“So why do you come here?” he asked.

 

“Why do you?”

 

“Only place I can actually fit,” the amusement in his voice was evident. She felt a little bad for him, though. His life had already been so miserable, it seemed a cruel jape of the gods to take away such a simple thing as being able to fit in a tub.

 

“It makes me feel a little closer to my family.” She scrunched up her nose. It sounded rather stupid. “Bran the Builder constructed this,” she motioned her hand at the terraced pools, “the springs still run through some of the walls of the castle. Not the new ones, of course. We had to construct those so hastily that it wasn't much of a priority… Sandor?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Have you ever thought about your wedding?”

 

He laughed, but it was a shallow, sad thing. “No, little bird. Can't say that I have. Who would want to marry this?” He touched his hand to the ruined side of his face, and the water ran down his scarred arm. But then he raised it and pushed his wet hair out of his face, and she felt her eyes following the movement of his muscles as his arm moved back. She didn't think he was nearly as unattractive as he seemed to think he was.

 

“Have you?”

 

“I used to. When I was a child. I dreamed of being surrounded by smiling faces, every one of them happy for me. Gliding down the aisle, on my father's arm, in a beautiful dress my mother helped me sew… Marrying a man who I loved. But now, I know that's not how things work. We're sold off like cattle to the highest bidder.” Her shoulders slumped as she thought of how dismal that sounded. “Luckily, though, I am Queen. And I can choose not to be married if I so wish it. Who is there to stop me?” She pushed a puff of air out her nose, mocking the rules.

 

“Surely you've had many offers.” It was more a statement than a question. He knew she had. He'd been there to witness every suitor that stepped into Winterfell, ready to “help” her rule the kingdom. She'd been smart enough to see through each one of their schemes. Littlefinger had been good for something. He'd taught her to play the game, and not be outmaneuvered.

 

“I did. You know how that went.”

 

“Aye. Every one of them I wanted to run through for even thinking of taking your home from you again.”

 

“Sandor?”

 

“Aye, little bird.”

 

“Why did you never court me?” She could barely hear her words herself.

 

“What?” He sounded as if the thought had never even occurred to him, struck completely off guard. “Sansa, I have nothing to offer you. Why would I even waste your time?”

 

“Are you wasting my time now?”

 

“Sansa. What are you getting at?”

 

“Maybe the idea isn't so far-fetched, is all.”

 

He met her eyes, boring into them and willing her to make more sense. She was unflinching.

 

“I think you're a little drowsy from this water. Shall we get you back to the castle, now, little bird?” She knew he didn't mean it as an insult, but sometimes it seemed like he still thought of her as a pretty little bird, chirping back words she'd been taught to use.

 

“I'm not tired. I'm relaxed. Perhaps my tongue has gotten so, as well. But it doesn't mean that there isn't truth behind the words.” She extended her leg again, searching the water for him. After some seconds of probing, she met his foot. Slowly, cautiously, she ran hers higher up his leg.

 

“Sansa. What are you doing?”

 

“Shh,” she soothed.

 

She felt the hard muscles of his calf, the taper of his ankle, roughness of the hair they were covered in. _And… goosebumps?_

 

“Sansa.”

 

“Shh!” This time it was more of a command.

 

She swam over to him, still keeping some distance between them. He looked at her with uncertainty perfectly displayed in his grey eyes. The candlelight flickered from a few ledges above, making the craters of his scars all the more apparent. She raised her hand, running her fingers over them.

 

“You're not as bad as you like everyone to think. There's beauty in scars.”

 

“Says the one who doesn't have any.”

 

“First, you haven't really seen me, so how would you know? And second, not all scars are visible. Plenty has been done to me that has left me damaged.”

 

Silence. He kept his eyes on hers, studying her face.

 

“And you deserve to have them all kissed away.” There was a vein of trepidation in his voice, unsure what the consequences of his words would be.

 

“By you?” She dropped her hand a little, cradling the nape of his neck, her thumb just over his ear lobe. Even that was covered in fine, almost unnoticeable fuzz. So soft.

 

“If you would let me. If you would want me.” It was barely over a rumble in his throat, but she heard it nonetheless.

 

“Sandor, I have waited for you. I would want nothing more.”

 

She wasn't sure if the wetness under her hand originated from the pool or his eyes. They were glassier than when she last looked.

 

He closed the distance between them, resting his forehead on hers.

 

“My queen,” he breathed, before his lips claimed hers.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

It was a brief thing. Just a few seconds and it was over, and she found herself trailing after him when he pulled away, eyes closed and expecting more. But he didn't lean back in, and instead gazed down at her with nothing less than wonder. A contented smile spread across his lips, and she felt hers stretching to match the sentiment. He extended the great wing of his arm and she curled up under it, feeling as protected as she ever had.

 

They didn't speak, instead absorbing the tranquility of the night around them, the feel of each other's skin pressed against their own. She wasn't sure how long they sat there, but she felt like she never wanted to leave. Surely, it was getting late, though, and her heart ached as she made her excuses to head back to the castle.

 

He kindly shielded his eyes again as she climbed out of the pool and up the hill to her clothes. They both dressed hurriedly, the night air still chilly against their damp skin. The candle she had brought with her had long since sputtered out, and she found herself stumbling rather awkwardly around the rocks on the terrace trying to get back to the path to the castle. He chuckled at her clumsiness, her usual pristine grace carried off in the darkness. A large hand wrapped around her waist, and she was glad for the support. He didn't let her go until they reached her rooms, and she found that it took all of her resolve to not invite him into her room. If even just to wake up wrapped in his arms again. She knew she shouldn't though, she didn't want to seem too forward. As if sharing a bathing pool with him, no clothing between them wasn't already too forward.

 

She stretched up, the tips of her toes propelling her to cover the last bit of distance to his cheek, and planted a kiss there. “Thank you for the lovely night, Sandor.” She smiled up at him, trying to project all the happiness she felt.

 

“Until next time, my lady.” He lifted her hand and brushed her knuckles over the tickly hair above his lip, placing the sincerest of kisses on them. He waited until she was in her room before turning to leave.

 

* * *

 

Morning brought anticipation with it: for her meetings to be over, for the freedom of the afternoon, for the prospect of getting to see him again. Her insides were humming and she felt like she was in a daze, replaying the events of the past few days over and over in her head. She was sure she had them memorized by now.

 

* * *

 

He found her as she was crossing the courtyard on her way to her chambers. Golden light from the pre-setting sun was flooding over the walls, making everything look a little more spectacular than it normally did. He seemed rather out of breath, but tried to straighten himself up a little before he fell into step next to her. “My queen?”

 

“Hello Sandor,” she smiled over at him.

 

“Have you plans for this evening?”

 

“No, I've already met with everyone I need to today. We missed you at the evening meal.” She remembered having been a little disappointed when she noticed his seat had been empty. How immediately panic had flooded her that she had scared him off.

 

“I wondered if you might be interested in accompanying me on a ride?”

 

It wasn't how she had hoped her night would go. She had fancied going back to the pools, of talking further with him and _well, maybe not so much talking._ A ride this late in the day seemed like a terrible idea. Even though the North was far less dangerous than it used to be, there were still animals in the woods that she would rather stay away from, even if he was with her. But her longing to be with him outweighed her doubts, and she heard herself accepting his invitation. He extended his arm, offering her his elbow to hold onto.

 

She looked at him critically. “What, now? I've not even my riding cloak with me.”

 

“Not to worry. You'll see.” He was hiding something and it made her uncomfortable to not know what it was. She was not fond of secrets anymore.

 

Even so, she found herself resting her hand on his forearm and letting him lead her to the stables. When they entered, she saw Stranger and her mare already saddled, waiting for them. _He must have known that I would go. He'd planned this._ It touched her that he had the foresight to think of something for them. She didn't think he had it in him, but then again, there were a lot of things she had been incorrect about recently. He helped her up onto her mare and easily hoisted himself up onto Stranger, and led them out of the stables.

 

The air outside the castle walls was crisp, and the light of the setting sun glinted off the new leaves emerging from the deciduous trees scattered among the evergreens of the forest. Only a few piles of melting snow remained on the ground. Spring was almost here. They skirted the edge of the forest, never entering it. _Where are we going?_

 

Soon they were climbing the hills he had pointed to that night in the pool, several miles from the castle. They were quickly approaching a distance from the castle she was uncomfortable with. Almost as if he had sensed her uncertainty, suddenly they stopped and Sandor dismounted.

 

“We're here.” She looked around them. They were at the top of one of the hills, the crepuscular sky surrounding them. It was beautiful. “Close your eyes for a minute, little bird.”

 

She obliged, and she heard him digging through his saddlebags. Stranger let out an appreciative groan when the weight was removed. A few minutes passed before he told her she could look. Her eyes met the spread he had presented for them. A thick woolen blanket lay on the ground, topped with a few more folded blankets, a flagon of what she assumed was wine, and a bundle of something else next to it. He helped her down from her mare and tied them to a tree several yards away where they happily munched on the newly-erupted tender shoots of grass.

 

He spread his arms out as he walked back over, motioning her to sit down on the blanket. A proud smile was splayed across his face.

 

“What's this?” she asked as she lowered herself to the ground, adjusting her skirts so they circled out around her.

 

“I thought you might need some more lessons on stars.” He settled down next to her and wrapped his arm across her back, pulling her to him. Her heart fluttered. He reached over to the bundle next to the flagon of wine and presented it to her. She unwrapped it, and inside were two _only slightly_ _crushed_ lemoncakes. “Your favorite.”

 

“How did you think of all this?” she marveled at the set up around them. Her heart softened at the effort he had put into what she thought had just been an impromptu idea. She took one of the lemoncakes and handed the bundle back to him, nibbling at it. His disappeared in almost one bite.

 

The sky was darkening quickly, and the brightest stars were easily visible. She searched the sky for the Warrior he had shown her last night and found it hovering above the hills behind them. “Do you know any others?” She leaned into him, settling her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. _Leather and pine and_ _just faintly like_ _Stranger._ She thought she might like to sink into it and never surface.

 

In not much time, they were surrounded with a pitch-black sky, pin-pricked with thousands of bright twinkling stars. He tried pointing a few more out to her, but she couldn't remember most of them by the time he finished, so lost she was in the moment of just sitting there with him. He leaned over to grab the flagon of wine, pulling her with him, but it was too far even for his long reach and they toppled over in the attempt. His throat rumbled when he laughed at his failure, and he threw his head back to look at the stars once more instead.

 

He drew her to him and she wasn't sure how much closer she could possibly be, but she craved to be even more so. Her eyes settled on his hands clasped together at her waist, securing his arms around her. They followed his arm up, over the bunching of the material of his tunic, the hills of his shoulders, until they settled on his exposed throat; the curve of it as he let his head hang back, the muscles stretched tight, the gentle drumming of his pulse, the terminus of his scars just under the whiskers on his jaw. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss it and she let it consume her, stretching up and touching her lips to his skin just at the juncture of jaw and neck. He inhaled sharply and something stirred low down in her belly, that familiar feeling like when she was in the hot springs before.

 

He shifted, meeting her ice blue eyes with his warm grey ones, taking her in. The thought occurred to her that they both probably couldn't believe that they'd found themselves here. She just hoped that he was enjoying it as much as she was. She felt him release his clasped hands, felt him drag one up her side, thread his fingers through her hair. His lips were warm on hers, soft and yielding on one side and smooth and hard on the other. It was much longer than their last one, and she let herself melt into his arms as he moved over her. What was gentle and exploratory at first soon turned hungry and passionate, and she found herself craving more, _more._ Her hand moved up his stomach, over his chest, clasping onto his shoulder and trying to bring him even closer to her. But he pulled away from her. He extracted his hand from her hair, gently laid her down on the blanket. She stared over at him, desperately wondering what she did wrong. _Did he not like it?_ She panicked.

 

Then she realized that he was just retrieving the other blankets he had brought with them. She noticed abruptly how cold it was, now that she wasn't sharing his heat. Even in the night air, her cheeks burned, her flesh was aflame with her desire for him. He threw open the blanket and let it fall over them, returning quickly to her side and placing his hands back upon her.

 

“Sansa,” there was a note of hesitation in his voice. “I don't want to bugger this up. I can tell-” he nodded his head to the flush on her cheeks, her heaving chest, breathless from the kisses they had just shared, “-that you want to continue this as much as I do. Believe me, _gods_ , I have wanted you for years.” There was almost a sadness in his eyes. She wanted to shush him, to cover him with her reassurances that she _wanted him,_ but she let him continue. “But I want this the right way. I intend to court you, and if I've waited almost ten years to be able to do what we're doing now, I think I- we- can wait a little longer.”

 

Her rounded eyes started back at him in disbelief. _But he's a man. He's supposed to want this_ more _than me. All the other men who have courted me were practically climbing over each other to get into my skirts_. She was confused. But then again, she reasoned with herself that this was why she was interested in him, anyway. That he respected her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to do the right thing.

 

Eventually, she nodded. “You're right. We've both waited for this for a while. No sense rushing it.” The more she thought about it, the more she savored the slow pace that they seemed to have fallen into. He sat up, spreading his bent legs and motioned for her to sit in front of him, leaning back into his chest. She adjusted, and he wrapped the blanket around them, giving her a kiss on the top of her head before settling his chin on her shoulder. She pushed her head back into the crook of his neck and relaxed into him. He tightened his arms around her, surrounding her with his warmth, and she picked up one of his hands, studying it. Such strong hands. Used to killing. Now used for tenderness, for building things up instead of tearing them down. She raised it to her lips, placing a kiss on the back of it. She thought she might be falling, and she had no intention of bracing for the impact.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that I'm enjoying writing this story perhaps a little too much; drawing out their courtship. But stay tuned! Girl can't hold out forever, *elbows your arm* y'naw what I mean?!
> 
> Also. Have y'all heard of Lord Huron? Cause their songs are just dreamy writing music. :)
> 
> Comments make my day. For serious. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

“What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?” Arya cornered her once everyone else had left the hall after breakfast.

 

“Excuse me?” She thought about playing the “ _I am your queen, and don't you dare speak to me like that”_ card, but she knew it would do no good on her little sister, and besides, she was family. She never wanted any of them to feel like she thought she was better than them. It was only because she was the eldest that she reigned over the North.

 

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't you dare hurt him.” Angry grey eyes looked up at her blue ones.

 

“Arya, you're the one that left him to die under a tree. Or don't you remember? And besides, I have no intentions of doing such a thing.” She wondered how she even knew something was going on. They weren't like Arya and Gendry, parading around the halls of the castle, giggling and sneaking off into shadowed alcoves. Even Sansa didn't truly know what was going on. She didn't know what to call this thing that was happening between them, she just knew she didn't want it to stop.

 

“That's not fair. You know I had the first person I saw go tend to him. I just couldn't go back. But you don't know what he said under that tree. One of his dying wishes was about you.” The little wolf crossed her arms in a huff, storming out of the hall. Sansa's mouth was agape, ready to retort, but the words wouldn't come. What did she mean by that? _His dying wish was about me._ She remembered all the times she had thought about him before, when she wished he had been there instead of someone else. _In her marriage bed_.

 

* * *

 

Gendry and Sandor were training in the yard when she went looking for them. Arya was perched on one of the benches circled around the fence, evaluating their movements. Her eyes had been trained on Gendry, but she detached from him just long enough to glare at her sister as she sat down next to her.

 

“Still grumpy, I see.” Sansa's voice was flat, deflated that her sister was still being a brat. She'd hoped that she had outgrown it. She was almost twenty, but perhaps it wasn't something that would wane with age. Unfortunately.

 

“Did you think about what I said to you earlier?”

 

“Yes, sister.” It really had been all that she could think about the rest of the day. Even outweighing her musings on the night prior. “How are the men doing?” She knew next to nothing about about their technique, like she knew Arya did.

 

“Improving. Gendry's learning more things from training with Sandor. And Sandor seems to be getting stronger with his bad leg.” She inclined her head as Gendry swung at Sandor, who raised his sword to deflect the blow. He braced for it, but she could still tell that he favored the weaker one. His grimace from the contact softened when he caught sight of her. The momentary lapse in attention allowed his opponent to jab him sharply in the ribs, and a great wheeze of air came spilling out his mouth. He laughed it off, extending his hand to Gendry.

 

“I think it may be time to call practice,” he said to the other man, tilting his head toward the benches.

 

Gendry let out a chuckle, understanding. “Too distracted, are you?” He walked over to the fence around the training yard, resting his dulled sword on it. “Tomorrow, then?” He smiled knowingly back at Sandor before striding over to Arya and ushering her out of the yard.

 

Sansa stood and sauntered over to the fence, meeting Sandor as he leaned his sword against it as well. She stretched her arm through the fence, touching the point over his mail where Gendry's sword had jabbed him. “Sorry.”

 

“It's nothing.” She didn't look convinced. “I've had much worse, little bird.” He wiped the sweat from his brow, examining her. Her dress dipped alluringly low, a dragonfly brooch securing the fabric a little lower than it normally did. The change didn't escape him. She noticed his eyes lingering and lifted a finger to his chin, raising it so his eyes met hers. Though she found it amusing that he was openly staring at her breasts.

 

“It'll bruise, I'm sure,” she frowned. “I've heard the water from the mineral springs is healing.” There was glint in her eyes and she could feel the smile on his lips when he bent to kiss her.

 

“I've heard the same. Shall we test that theory tonight, my queen?” His face was inches from hers.

 

“I think we should.” She stretched up to close the distance, meeting his lips as her heart fluttered at the anticipation. He extended his arms through the fence and wrapped them around what he could reach of her waist, deepening the kiss. His lips moving over hers, arms encircling her: it all felt so good, but she was aware that they were in the middle of the castle grounds, for everyone to see. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone to see them, but more that she wanted to protect this little flame that they had, shelter it in her hands and stoke the fire until it was too strong for anyone else to put out. She pulled back, breathless and lips swollen from the contact. The desire in his eyes deepened their color to a stormy grey and she noticed that his hands clasped her a little tighter.

 

She turned to leave, placing hand on his forearm. “Meet me at my rooms after sundown?”

 

“As you wish.” He bid her adieu, and started to gather the training swords to put them away. She let herself look back this time, taking in his form once more before rounding the corner and losing sight of him.

 

* * *

 

She paced anxiously around her rooms that night, waiting for him to come. She'd selected a dark grey shift to wear under her dress coat, knowing now that they would likely be in the same pool. As much as she wanted to touch all of him, everywhere, at once, she remembered what they had talked about the night before. About taking things slowly. And she remembered thinking earlier about gently stoking their little flame. She musn't rush things if they were to last. No great house had been built in a day.

 

She'd just finished braiding her hair, giving her shaking hands something to do when there were three soft knocks at her door. When she opened it, he stood smiling back at her. He lifted his arm to offer it to her, and she took it, letting him lead them out of the hall and the castle walls. Once they were away from prying eyes, he wrapped his arm around her waist, and she wasn't sure if it were just to hold her, or him remembering how clumsy she'd been before over the rocks. Either way, she reasoned, she liked it. Once there, she suddenly found herself apprehensive. Before, she'd always already been in the pools when he had arrived. She instantly felt nervous around him. _Gods, what am I doing?_ _I can't undress in front of him!_

 

He must have noticed her hesitation, because he paused in the middle of undressing. “Suddenly shy, are we?” he teased. She narrowed her eyes at him. _Yes, I've never undressed in front of a man._ He finished pulling off his tunic and bunched it up in his hands, raising it to his face. His voice was muffled, but she understood, “I can't see you!”

 

She quickly shed her coat and slid into the pool in her shift. She was glad for her foresight of choosing a darker color. “You can look, now.” She worked her braid into a bun on the top of her head as he joined her in the pool, just tying a ribbon around it in a bow when he swam over to her. She sat on the bench at the edge, and he placed his hands on either side of her legs on it, locking his elbows and letting his legs float in the current. “I don't think I've ever seen your hair up, little bird.”

 

“Yes you have. I used to wear it up in the Southern style at court.”

 

“Not all the way,” he replied, inclining his head to indicate her bun. “I've never seen your neck so bare.” The scarred corner of his lips tugged up in a devilish smirk, and he leaned in to place a kiss on her exposed skin. The contact sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't help the moan that bubbled up from her throat. He continued, trailing up to her jaw, across her cheek, to her mouth. She met his kiss with a ferocity she didn't know she had in her. _Stop, stop,_ _don't rush_ _._ She didn't want to, but she made herself slow down, languidly surfacing from the depths of the kiss.

 

He stopped, placing a final peck on her lips. She watched him push back from her, standing up again, holding out his hands for her to grab onto them. She stood, too, but reached out to touch the now purple spot on his ribs. It looked mottled and angry. “Oh, Sandor. Does it hurt?” She ran a finger over the bruise.

 

“Well, not if you don't touch it, silly girl.” She knew he was just teasing her, but a wince flashed across his face for just a moment. So she bent down and placed the faintest of kisses on it.

 

“There. That will help with a speedy recovery.” She took his hands and let him lead her to the other side of the pool, over to the side that he'd been on the other night. He sat and pulled her into his lap, resting his arm on the ledge of the pool so she could lean back onto it. She bent her knees across his lap and discovered that she was rather disappointed that he still had his breeches on. _Well, what did you expect?_ She closed her eyes and let her head fall back over his arm, felt his hand resting lightly on her calf under the water. It seemed like such an awkward position, but it was the most comfortable she'd been in the pools.

 

* * *

 

She wasn't sure how long they had been in the water, but her fingers had turned rather wrinkly by the time the moon rose. They'd been talking for quite some time about everything she could think of, peppered with kisses in between. But the more they talked, the more frequent the kisses became, and the deeper, until she found herself wanting more. Her right hand roamed freely over his chest, committing to memory the ridges of his muscles, the softness of the hair that grew there. Her other arm draped over his outside of the pool, her hand threaded into his hair, rubbing the nape of his neck. The massage elicited an appreciative groan, rumbling up from deep down in his chest. His hand worked circles on her leg, though she noticed it was steadily climbing higher. She wasn't sure whether it was the steam from the hot springs making her so dizzy or the high from his kisses, but all she wanted to do was continue down this spiral with him.

 

She adjusted, climbing on top of him, pulling at her shift to free her legs so she could straddle his thighs. They instantly resumed, hungry kisses giving way to open mouths, tongues probing the new-found territory. She felt his hands move over her back, one drifting a little lower, resting hesitantly over her arse. _He's asking permission,_ she realized, stunned that she was actually capable of thinking at this point. She nodded, and he squeezed. Their moans escaped at the same time, drifting off into the night air. She wanted to be closer, ever closer, and she scooted nearer to his chest, rubbing against the hardness she only just registered had grown in his breeches. His kisses trailed down her neck, across her collarbone, and she leaned back at the sensation, his arm steadying her as she went. She reached for one of his hands and guided it to her breast, encouraging him by moving her hand over his as he ran a thumb over her nipple. She sighed, and was met with a growl in return. Abruptly, he stopped.

 

“Sansa.”

 

Snapped out of her reverie, she sat back up, holding onto his shoulders for support.

 

“Hmm?” She leaned in and rubbed her nose against his, placing delicate little kisses on his lips on every other pass.

 

“If we keep going, I won't want to stop.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“No, not yet. Remember?”

 

_Oh, yes. Damn it._ She sighed, resigning herself to the fact of their agreement. She felt him trying to stand up and pushed herself back, allowing him range of motion. “We should probably get back to the castle. It's getting late.”

 

She pouted, but relented. He helped her out of the pool and turned to give her privacy to change out of her wet shift and back into her dry clothes.

 

The walk back to the castle was quiet, but filled with the warm feeling blossoming in her chest. His arm resumed its place on her waist, and she leaned her head on his arm, feeling the solid muscle there. Oh, how she wanted those arms to be wrapped around her every moment of every day.

 

When they got back to her chamber door, she met his eyes wordlessly, pulling him over the threshold and into her rooms.

 

“Sansa, what are you doing?”

 

“Just stay with me. Please?” She really didn't feel like begging him, and luckily, it appeared she didn't have to.

 

“Alright, my queen. But I need to change,” he pointed down at his breeches, soaked through from the springs. A puddle was slowly forming under him.

 

“Do you promise that you'll come back? Because I won't let you leave if you won't.” The similarity of the tone of her voice and that of Arya's that morning did not escape her.

 

“I promise,” he said as he backed out of her doorway.

 

Shutting the door behind him, and she made quick work of changing into a sleeping shift. She pulled her hair down out of its ribbon, unwinding the braid she had made earlier.

 

She fought the weight of her eyelids as she climbed into bed, but when the door finally opened again, she was fast asleep under her furs. He shook his head in amusement as he clicked the lock on the door, seeing her sleeping frame, the slow rise and fall of her breaths. Carefully so as not to wake her, he slid in next to her, wrapping one massive arm around her middle and curling around her. He placed a kiss on the top of her head before he let sleep carry him off into the night.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, thoughts: Sandor POV next chapter? Or keep it going the way it has been with Sansa-centric? I have ideas... ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV. :D

* * *

He felt like he was a million miles away, his arm propping up his head, gazing down at Sansa in the new morning light. Dust motes drifted through the rays filtering in from the window, meandering on their path like his heart had been recently, pondering what it was he intended to do with this feeling in his chest, incipient though somehow oddly familiar. He thought he'd loved her before, but this was different. He knew that he would swear the rest of his life to her in one way or another; into her service as a bannerman, to protect her safety as a sworn shield, but never as whatever this was that they were doing. He'd never imagined that it might be reciprocated. The hole in his chest everyone else had left had always told him different.

 

The freckles on her cheeks were just visible, emerging secretly at his proximity. Her auburn hair was a mess of tangles all around her, a chaotic halo. The rise and fall of her gentle breathing drew his eyes down, over the curves of her breasts under her shift, disappearing into the furs they shared. He pulled her closer, inhaling the smell of her, swirling around with his and creating something distinctly unique. Oh, how he could get lost in it. But he knew that soon enough, her handmaiden would come to help her dress for the morning, and he didn't want to be seen by them. It was her choice how public she wanted to make this, and he didn't want to take that from her. No, he would need to leave soon if he were to still be able to give that freedom to her. But she was warm and soft, and he realized that he'd never had this. He'd never woken up next to a woman before. _You can't pay them enough for that_.

 

Steeling himself for the inevitable, he swept a stray lock of hair from her face, placed a barely-detectable kiss on her temple, and slid out of bed. He was careful in his movements, not wanting to wake her. He wasn't sure how helpless he would be if she stirred and reached for him.

 

He'd just gotten out of the doors of the main hall when he saw her handmaiden out of the corner of his eye, heading up the stairs to her chambers with breakfast. _Just in time_.

 

Once he was back in his room, he placed his hands on either side of the table that held his wash basin, hanging his head and inhaling deeply. _What the fuck am I doing?_ His mind was at war with itself, conflicting thoughts and emotions swelling and ebbing away like the tides around the Quiet Isle. _I don't deserve her. I have nothing to offer her. But she said herself that she could choose. But she'd said 'choose not to be married.' She could never actually want me._ It was fruitless, he had ended up at the same place: _what the fuck am I doing?_

 

There was a knock at his door. He'd forgotten about Gendry. They were to practice again today. He hastily grabbed his mail and headed out the door, meeting the man on the other side.  
  


* * *

 

He was swinging harder than usual at practice. Gendry let it slide until Sandor had put all of his weight behind one swing, and he stumbled back, absorbing the shock of the blow.

 

“Seven hells, Sandor! What's gotten into you?”

 

He just shook his head in response. He hadn't even known he was doing it. “Sorry, Gendry,” the apology was automatic and hollow. He tried to laugh it away, joking that Gendry wasn't going to have it easy on the battlefield if he ever needed to serve, shouldn't have it easy during practice, either. But that was empty, too, mirthless in its delivery. “Might be best to pick this up later. I think I might take Stranger out. Get him some exercise.” _Any excuse to get out of here._

 

Gendry nodded, hands at his sides and chest heaving from the exertion of fighting, annoyance clear on his face. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

 

* * *

 

It was a fine day for a ride. Stranger felt good under him, the powerful beast happy to be out and stretching his legs. It seemed he'd calmed down since the Quiet Isle, too. The sky was clear, sun beating down on the ever-shrinking remnants of snow. The hills were covered in the fine fur of sprouting green grass, so dissimilar from the winter they'd just been through. A brisk spring breeze picked up, whipping his lanky black hair in his face. He turned, heading into the forest and off of the beaten trail he'd been on.

 

The forest grew thicker, the deer trail he'd found winding its way through massive cedar trees, moss covered logs, shaggy ferns tucked away under the canopy, protected from the snowfall of winter. The farther in he went, the more it seemed like he might never be able to find his way out of it and he started regretting his decision to turn into the woods in the first place. But as Stranger picked over the ground, carefully placing his hooves on the slippery ground underneath them, the trees slowly started to thin. The faint murmuring of water in the distance heralded the arrival of the steep cliff in front of them. Sandor halted Stranger, dismounting to survey the area they'd just discovered. He leaned over the edge of the cliff, judging the distance to the bottom. It was quite a ways down, not traversable even by foot. Ferns clutched to the near vertical sides, defying the perilous height. There was a fairly clear path along the ledge, leading upstream. He was curious to see where it went.

 

After almost an hour of walking, the percussion of splashing water turned into the roar of a waterfall as they approached. They were still along the ledge of the canyon, the waterfall mixing with the brook below. It was a shallow incline along their path up to the waterfall, and as they crested the hill, he could see a ruin of a house off in the background, several yards back from the fall. It was nestled just into the treeline, weathered stones jagged at the top where the roof had fallen away. The giant cedars towered over it, dwarfing the little structure. Flat ground surrounded it, dusted with the new growth of the spring grass. The sun shone brightly along the riverbanks, gracing the little meadow at the top of the falls with its warm light.

 

It was beautiful. Peaceful. Untouched. And all he could think of was Sansa. Of sharing this discovery with her. Of laying her down in the wildflowers that he was sure would be sprouting there soon enough.

 

He tied Stranger to a nearby tree, letting him happily mow a circle into the fresh grass around him. He walked over to the structure, investigating the chance that someone else was utilizing it. It seemed untouched since before its ruin. The remnants of the roof had collapsed into the middle of it, which was just one room, surrounded by the stone walls. There was still a frame intact for the door, but none remained. It looked long-since forgotten, the wood decayed and now resting with the roof on the floor. But the stones that remained looked in good repair, sturdily built, evidently. He walked around the inside, assessing its integrity. How he longed to see the look on Sansa's face if he presented this to her. An escape from the castle.

 

He walked back over to Stranger, digging in the saddlebags for a blanket that he was sure was still in there from when they'd been stargazing. Finding it, he hurried back over to the house and spread it on the ground.

 

He spent the rest of the day clearing the inside of the structure of the decaying wood, hauling it out into the meadow and separating out the burnable chunks from the rest. Those that would make good firewood he stacked close to the house, the rest he chucked back into the forest to finish their decay. His thoughts were filled with how to improve the structure, of the anticipation of presenting it to his queen. He was completely exhausted by the time the sun hung low, resting just at the precipice of the water fall, reflecting its light off of the rippling current of the river. The mist drifted up from the falls, and the sun behind it shattered into a parabola of prismatic light. He quickly packed his things back onto Stranger, and started back on their journey to the castle. Time had escaped him, and he realized he was terribly unprepared for navigating the way back in the dark.

 

Luckily, the sun remained up long enough to find their way back to the trail to Winterfell, and he made it through the gates just as darkness fell. He glanced up at Sansa's window, searching for a candle glow, but didn't see one. He wasn't sure whether it was relief or disappointment he felt, knowing that she'd already gone to sleep. He settled on relief. If he found her now, his heart swelling with excitement over his discovery, his plans for this gift for her, he knew surely he would not be able to restrain himself as he had in the past. If she threw herself at him now, he was certain he wouldn't be able to resist her.

 

He walked Stranger to the stables, getting his gear off and brushing him thoroughly. It would be a long day tomorrow, hard work trekking supplies out to the house to rebuild it. They should both get their rest now. He hefted up a new bale of hay into the box in his stable, gave him a grateful scratch on the nose and headed back to his room.

 

By the time he got back to his chamber, he was too weary to even light a candle. He knew where everything was in his room. No point exerting the extra effort. He stripped off his sweaty clothes, dropping them unceremoniously in a pile on the floor. One quick step across the room and he was in his bed. _So warm._ He stretched, turning over onto his belly and settling into his pillow. A delicate arm crept over to rest on his lower back. He felt kisses on his shoulder blade. Soft _naked_ breasts pressed onto his ribcage.

 

“Where've you been all day?”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't we all wish someone would build a house for us? Haha. Aww, sweet Sandor. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: this whole thing is a giant lemon. We've all waited long enough.
> 
> Also, I also quite enjoy my version of Sandor in which he has absolutely no idea what to do _for_ women, and so that's the Sandor you'll get from me. Part of the joy is in the discovery. :)
> 
> :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A girl can only wait so long until she takes matters into her own *ahem* hands. ;)

* * *

He rolled back over, half asleep already, but startled. _How could I have missed her?_   She continued peppering him with kisses, moving with him as he turned over onto his back.

 

“I've missed you.” She said in between kisses, moving her arm to wrap around his belly and covering one of his legs with her own. She spread her open palm across his ribs, rubbing her thumb along the ridges.

 

He couldn't lie to her. But he didn't have to reveal _everything_. She seemed to like the last surprise he came up with for her… “I had some things to attend to. I took Stranger out to exercise him. Needed to stretch his legs.” _Hopefully she won't press._ But she did, in a different way, seemingly pleased with the answer. She scooted closer to him, laying her head on his chest when his arms wrapped around her. It was strange how this felt so natural to him. Like they fit together. He ran his hand along her arm, feeling the soft skin underneath his calloused palm. She pulled away, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his hand to her waist. _Seven hells she's not wearing a gods damned thing._

 

He felt the flare of her waist under his hand, the soft peaks of her breasts pressed into him, and when she stretched up to claim his mouth, he let his hand wander farther south. She deepened the kiss, and their tongues duelled for space, her hands roaming as well, across his chest, tracing a finger over his collarbone, over the hill of his bicep, down the veins on his forearm, back to his hand on her hip. She pushed it lower and he let out a groan like brontide in a storm. Her arse was firm but yielding when he squeezed it, his hand traveling lower to pull her leg up higher over his. He could feel the wetness from her cunt on his leg, and he wasn't sure if he could possibly get any harder. Her hand was warm when it found his cock, stroking timidly, her mouth hot and wet as it sucked on his neck. She climbed on top of him and he instinctively grabbed her hips, searching through heavy lids and the dim light in the room for her eyes. They met his, boring into him with a surprising hunger. She moved her hips, straddling him just on the underside of his cock, rocking back and forth in a hypnotic motion and rubbing herself along the length of it.

 

“Gods, Sansa,” he growled out through gritted teeth. “Are you sure?”

 

“I was sure before.” She continued her rocking. It was impossible to think.

 

“And now?”

 

She leaned down, kissing him deeply, and pushed her hand in between them, making contact with the sensitive tip of his cock. “I'm sure.” _Gods._

 

He wrapped one arm around her, flipping them over. She lay on her back, her tiny wrists pinned by his massive hands, unresisting. She looked up at him, studying his face, biting her lip as she smiled. He lowered himself down to her neck, sucking at the tender flesh there until he heard a soft moan escape her lips. He trailed kisses down, over her clavicle, in between the valley of her breasts. He released her wrists, turning his attention to the hard pink nubs of her nipples. He suckled on them, lavishing each with attention, and her hips rose with want. He raised back up over her, his cock poised at her entrance.

 

“It'll hurt.” He was suddenly unsure. Well, part of him was. The other part was raring to go.

 

“No it won't.” _What the fuck?_ He pulled back, studying her face. His mind instantly flashed to the other suitors that had visited her. His gut fell in a pit of jealousy. It wasn't right to be jealous over such a thing. She was a gods damned queen and she could do what she wanted, of course he probably wasn't her first. _Look at her_ . Why _would_ he be her first?

 

“What do you mean?” He desperately searched her face. A devilish grin appeared across her lips. Her head fell to the side, looking at his hand fisted into the bed beside her, her hand relaxed open next to it. She wiggled her fingers.

 

“I… uh...” Even through the dim lighting he could see the deep red of the blush that spread across her cheeks. His mind wandered back to that first day in the hot springs, hearing her moan. _Oh._ Somehow that made the whole thing that much hotter. The heat of his desire for her was incalescent. Some flicker of doubt must have flashed across his face, because she elaborated, placing a delicate hand on his scarred face. “You're the only one.”

 

It was all he needed, knowing she wanted this as much as he did. He slid in, sheathing himself to the hilt in her wet heat. She gasped, looking up at him with something akin to adoration. Her hips rose against his, spurring him to action. He moved in her, slowly at first and gradually picking up the pace. Her soft mewling under him mixed with his rasping breaths in the space between their bodies. She ran her hands over him, fingers tracing through the hair on his chest, down the taut muscles of his belly. Her legs fell open, allowing him more range of movement.

 

“Tell me what you want, little bird. Let me make you sing.”

 

She smiled, biting her lip again, and reached for his hand still fisted into the mattress beside her head. He shifted his weight to his other arm, the muscles burning and protesting from the exertion after the work he had already done today. She uncurled his fingers with her own, placing them on her breast, squeezing, pushing his hand farther down, over her soft belly, until it rested just at the juncture of her legs. She moved his thumb down, directing him to the tiny nub there, pushing down on his digit in rhythmic circles. She moaned, and he continued on, taking up where she left off. She lifted her hips, meeting his thrusts equally. He leaned back, supporting his weight on his bent knees, still rubbing the sensitive nub, using his other hand to grab onto her hip and get better traction. Her body squirmed under him, her back arching up and her breathing becoming more ragged. Her face twisted strangely, a mix of pleasure and shock as foreign to him as the sudden clenching of her walls around him.

 

“Gods, Sandor.” Her hands clenched onto his arms, barely even reaching around half of them. He felt her legs wrap around his back, drawing him closer, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He felt the imminent cliff of his release, and pulled back just long enough to retract from her, some shred of reason surfacing through the depths of his desire for her. _You can't get her pregnant._ He finished in hand, collapsing on top of her and covering every inch of her he could reach with kisses.

 

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his back, stroking his spine. She purred, content in the warmth of her release.

 

“I take it that was good?” He cursed himself for having to ask, but he'd never- the whores he had been with had never- well, he was lucky to get them to even stick around long enough to finish him.

 

“Mmm, yes. It seemed like you enjoyed it, too.” Her hand threaded through his hair, rubbing the scalp underneath. He could only feel half of it, the other nerves burned away years ago. But it felt divine nonetheless. He was slipping briskly into a deep sleep, his head pillowed by her breast.

 

“I think I may need to be away more often if that's what awaits me when I return.” She planted a tender kiss on the top of his head, her breathing slowing down with his. He sleepily reached over the bed, finding his tunic on the floor, removing the stickiness in his hand, and pulling the fur that had fallen next to it back over them. They fell asleep like that, he covering half of her, their legs entwined, his heavy arm over her middle, her hand idly stroking his back. Both had a smile on their face as the darkness of sleep claimed them.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, my WiFi died just as I was about to post this chapter, and I almost had a heart attack.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

 

The morning brought with it the realization of what had happened the night before. Sansa stretched, enjoying the dull ache between her legs and in the muscles of her stomach. She rubbed her fists into her eyes, willing them to stay open so she could extract herself from the warm nest they'd made. She was to head into town with her small council today to check on the welfare of her people. Sandor lay on his side next to her, still lost in his dreams, mouth slightly agape and breathing deeply. His arm was stretched up under his pillow, the other curled across his chest where she had gently laid it after she crawled out from under its warmth. His long legs were twisted in the furs, where hers had been previously. She pulled her robe back on, having draped it across the back of the only chair in his room the night before. It had strings on the inside to tie it together, and she thought better of tying the belt around the outside, instead pulling it out through the loops and laying it atop the pillow next to him. The colorful fabric seemed out of place in his room. She tiptoed over to him, stroking the long black hair away from his face. From this angle, his scars were hidden. She thought how without them, he was quite a handsome man. He had the potential to have any girl in Westeros for his own, but a jealous thought popped into her mind: she was glad he had them. He wouldn't be the man he was now if not for the way they had shaped his life, and she might not have gotten the opportunity to be with him. No, she was strangely glad that their hardships had both lead them here. She leaned down to place a kiss on his temple, and in a voice as barely detectable as wind through a wheat field, whispered in his ear. “I love you, Sandor.”

 

She turned, opening his door achingly slowly and muffling the click of the lock with her hand. She padded back across the courtyard to her rooms, glad that she had somehow naturally awoken before the rest of the castle. When she approached her rooms, she was worried to see the door slightly ajar. She cautiously crossed the threshold, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw Nymeria laying atop her featherbed, glaring at her. She could have sworn she was judging her. _Now who's she going to stay with if both of us are otherwise occupied?_

 

She rubbed the great beast between her ears before walking over to her desk and scrawling a note for Sandor. She would give it to Arya to give to him before she headed out to town. She expected he wouldn't be up before she departed after last night.

 

* * *

 

He was woken up abruptly after sunrise by a banging on his door. His longs limbs stretched, aching from all the work they'd done yesterday, toes curling and fingers flexing. “What?” He demanded of the disruptor.

 

Arya's voice answered from the other side, and he almost let her in until he stood up and realized his breeches were missing. _Oh, right._ How could he have forgotten? He looked back over at the bed, disappointment filling him when he realized it was empty. It was oddly reminiscent of his prior exploits, waking up to an empty bed. He tried to remind himself that this was different. _It's not like that But what the hells is it like?_

 

He pulled on his breeches and laced them up on the way over to the door, pulling it open up just enough to see her face. An angry scowl greeted him and she thrust a piece of paper into his hand. “What's this?”

 

“Sansa gave it to me to give to you.” She jabbed her finger up at him, “I won't be your messenger.” Her arms crossed, and she glared at him. “Breakfast is in the great hall. Will you be joining us?”

 

He was distracted, tracing his thumb across the blob of wax that sealed he parchment, a snarling direwolf emblazoned in the middle. “Hmm? Aye, I'll be over in a few.” He shut the door on her, turning the parchment over in his hand. He peeled up the wax, unfolding it and reading its contents.

_Sandor,_

_I have business in Wintertown. I may be gone for about a fortnight . I didn't want you to think I'd just left without saying goodbye, but you looked so peaceful I couldn't bring myself to wake you. I did so enjoy last night. I hope we might be able to… speak again soon._

_x, your Little Bird_

 

He smiled, his heart thawing a little at the events of last night. There certainly hadn't been much talking. Not that he'd minded. But a fortnight? It seemed like so much time. He shifted, and his legs reminded him of the project he had yet to complete. Perhaps he might be able to have it finished by the time she got back. Resolved, he tucked the parchment away under his pillow. It seemed childish to do such a thing, but he could just faintly smell her on the paper, and he wanted to keep it close. Then he saw the tie draped across the pillow next to his, reminding him of its owner. He leaned over to retrieve it, letting the silky fabric run through his fingers. _She left me her favor._ He wrapped it around his wrist, pulling the knot tight with his teeth and other hand. The sleeve of his tunic just covered it when it fell back down.

 

* * *

 

As he neared the house, he hoped he'd brought enough supplies, and the right ones, for the work that he would need to do. He set up his camp, finding a nice spot for Stranger to graze in the shade of the meadow around the structure. He really had no idea how to go about fixing the ruin of the house, but it felt good to be out in the woods scavenging for the right pieces of wood to construct the roof. He was just tall enough to be able to hoist the tree trunk he found for the backbone of the roof up above the stones of the walls. The rest seemed to be fairly quick work, cutting down young limbs long enough to reach from the center beam and rest along the stone walls.

 

He'd gotten the framework of the roof finished by the time the sun was setting on the first day, and he laid back in the soft grass next to the campfire he started, propping himself up on his elbows and taking in the little house. It still wasn't much, surely nothing fit for a queen, but there was still work to be done, and after all, he didn't intend for it to be a full time residence. Just somewhere to go to get away from the castle if she felt like it. Somewhere they could go to be alone.

 

 

* * *

 

He went back to Winterfell a few times, hauling back more supplies each time and checking on the whereabouts of the queen secretly. He still didn't want to raise any suspicions as to why he was inquiring, and he was surprised no one had asked him about what he was doing with all the things he was taking with him when he left the castle.

 

On the final day before her scheduled arrival, he sat on the little porch of the house, looking out on the setting sun in its rainbow of color behind the mist of the waterfall, stomach a-twitter with the excitement of seeing her on the morrow. He took a long pull from his water skin, watching the wildflowers that had sprouted a few days ago sway in the evening breeze. The tips of their petals like stained glass in the light. He thumbed the fabric still tied on his wrist, thinking of her. Of that night they had shared. Of the things he had wanted to say to her as he'd been drifting off to sleep.

 

_Yes, this will do nicely._


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

The morning she came back, entourage in tow, was a dark and gloomy thing. Heavy clouds threatened rain and the wind that whipped through the courtyard seemed a little strong for the season. The entire castle staff stood in the courtyard awaiting the arrival of their Queen through the gates, Sandor among them. He'd taken a spot near the back. He was tall enough to see over the crowd, anyway, and he figured that he should save the nearer spots for family and her handmaidens.

 

Her spotted mare rode in behind her guards, and she looked absolutely regal atop it. He knew how much she hated wearing her crown, she'd told him about it that night they'd spent in the pools, but he had to admit that it suited her well. The silver complemented her complexion, and even from the back, he could see how the opals caught the soft light like her eyes. She was lifted down from her horse as the rest of the party came into view. He recognized most of them, but there were a few new faces. It made him uncomfortable. Not too far behind Sansa was a man taller than even himself, the sigil over his armor depicting a great roaring giant in a field of red. Next to him stood a man of almost the same height, though much younger than the former. _Umbers._ He felt a sickening dread settle over him. He knew why they must be here. Their house had not yet sent someone for Sansa's hand, and in the back of his mind, he knew that's what these men were here for. His back stiffened, unconsciously trying to make himself larger and more intimidating, though he knew it was moot. The Umbers had lands and men, and he only had his heart to give. It paled in comparison to the things that great house could offer.

 

His mind drifted to how he had planned to surprise Sansa. How he had been so proud on his last trip back to the castle, ready to present it to her, picturing her face when she saw the wildflowers. _What foolishness._ She was a queen. He turned, sulking away from the crowd, from her introducing her new guests to the people in front of them. The people separated for him absently, their attention on their queen. He disappeared into the shadows, not noticing how her eyes searched for him in the sea of bodies.

 

 

* * *

 

He'd been called to dinner later that night. Begrudgingly, he put on the best thing he could find, knowing the company he would be in. He hated these types of things. All those lords, their pomp. Their _sers_. He smoothed out the woolen fabric of his tunic. _Time to get this over with._

 

When he got to the great hall, most everyone was seated. A long table stretched down the length of the room, piled high with the feast befitting of welcoming such a great house into their walls. The smell was enticing. The sight in front of him was more so. Sansa was perched dead center along one side of the table, the chair she was seated in framing her in rich mahogany. She spoke avidly with her sister right next to her, her auburn waves bouncing as she nodded enthusiastically over something the younger woman had said. Arya glanced up and met his eyes, smiling and then looking down at the empty chair immediately to Sansa's left, indicating for him to sit. _Next to the Queen?_ She must be mistaken. Arya leaned in close to Sansa, whispering something in her ear. She looked up, meeting Sandor's grey eyes as well. A demure smile crept across her lips. She rested her hand on the arm of the chair next to her, nodding slightly. He strode over, confident footsteps masking the confusion he felt. He normally sat at the complete opposite end of the table. He was not her equal, nor would he ever assume to be. _This must be a mistake._

 

He pulled out the chair and sat, now realizing who was opposite him across the table. It was the Greatjon, his apparent son sitting next to him. Sansa introduced them, relaying stories about the Greatjon's service to House Stark, how he'd supported Robb. An overwhelming sense of inadequacy settled over him and all he could think of was wanting to be rid of this night. It was only serving to iterate what would never be, Sansa sitting next to him like they were more than they were, the reminders of all he didn't have and the Greatjon did. He pushed down these thoughts the best he could, attempting, with much difficulty, to remain pleasant through the dinner, if only for the woman sitting to his right.

 

He was vaguely aware of Sansa and the Greatjon speaking throughout dinner, the younger Umber adding into the conversation when it was appropriate. Words wafted through the air in front of him as he picked at his food, uncharacteristically unenthusiastic about the succulent cuts of meat sitting atop the wooden plate.

 

It was near the end of dinner, the plates cleared and several cups of sour red in that he heard the word 'suitor' being mentioned. His hearing cleared just enough to catch the end of the conversation.

 

“-I am honored that you would consider a marriage alliance with our house,” Sansa courteously replied to whatever the Greatjon had said. _Why? You're the fucking Queen. People should be falling over themselves for you to even consider them._ Again, he reminded himself of his lowly standing, growing a little more petulant at the thought. “But I'm afraid I already have someone in mind.” _What?_ He looked up at her then, shock thinly veiled on his face. He hadn't even realized where her hands were, but one found his under the table, subtly, so as not to attract attention.

 

“May I ask who, your Grace?” His grey beard wiggled as he spoke. “Surely he must be a great man if he intends to court you.” He gave a thump on his son's back, who smiled in return.

 

“He is, I assure you.” Her voice had a steel edge to it, guarding herself. _What the fuck is she doing?_

 

Umber's eyes narrowed, though not enough to come off as a threat. He was, after all, surrounded by the Queen and her men. “Better than my son, your Grace? A better swordsman?”

 

He didn't like the way this was going. She smiled politely back at him, and he could see the scheming behind her eyes. His stomach turned at the thought of what was going on.

 

“Would you be willing to place a wager on that? I mean no offense, for you are one of my family's greatest allies, and I do so cherish your friendship. But in all honesty, I grow weary. I have been married more than I would care to have been, and I have no hurry to rush into another, as I see you are suggesting.” Her back was straight as an arrow, both hands resting on the arms of her chair, though one squeezed onto Sandor's, hidden under the table. His heart softened a little that she was drawing strength from it. _Have it, my queen. I am yours to do with as you wish._ The crown atop her head glinted in the candlelight, calling attention to its symbolic status.

 

Lord Umber was intrigued, his eyebrows raising at her proposal. “And what is this wager, your Grace?” He shifted his weight onto one arm, leaning back in his chair, confident that he would win whatever bet this was. Sandor noticed the room had quieted, all ears intent on what was transpiring in the middle of the long table.

 

She smirked back at him. “A duel.” She threaded her fingers through Sandor's, nervously rubbing her thumb over the fleshy bit of muscle between his index finger and thumb. She was as calm as could be on the outside, but he could tell that she was unsure of her words. He only hoped that she could pull off this bravado as long as she needed to. _They're all liars here… and every one better than you_ . “My suitor-” squeeze, “-and your son. Winner earns my hand. And that will be the end of it. I shall hear no more of this, and I will have your respect either way, as the North demands it.” He would have believed it had it not been for her hand in his under the table, cutting off his circulation with its ferocity. But the Greatjon couldn't see that. All he could see was her, straight-backed and confident in her words. He nodded. He respected courage, and she was showing plenty of it at the moment.

 

“Very well. On the morrow, then. In the courtyard.” He seemed satisfied, and stood to dismiss himself from the table. “Your Grace.” He bowed, his son following suit, and left the hall. Almost instantly it was booming with the conversations of the rest of the guests, eagerly discussing what they had witnessed.

 

Sandor leaned over to her, just slightly. “My queen? What do you think you're doing?”

 

He barely noticed her lips moving, but could make out the words all the same. “Don't mess this up, Clegane.” Her hand remained fixed to his.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sansa. What have you gotten your man into?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, did everyone remember to bring their giant foam fingers and air horns? Cause our boy's gonna need it!

* * *

 

S andor sat on the soft mattress in his bedroom, sinking it in the middle with his weight. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands fall in between them. His mind raced at the circumstance he found himself in: on the precipice of being able to finally, actually be with her, and of losing her completely. He tried to push back  the niggling resentment for getting them here, tried to remind himself of his confidence as a swordsman, but if he admitted it, he was terrified of losing her.  His eyes were drawn down to the silky blue tie still around his wrist, her favor.  _ She wouldn't have done this if she didn't trust me. _ He stood, his armor clattering with the movement. It somehow didn't feel right. He'd needed to get a new suit after he arrived in Winterfell; his old one was beyond repair. But this one wasn't worn in, wasn't used to the way he moved.  He strapped his gauntlets on, resigning himself to his fate if this didn't go well. He thought back to what he'd told the little she-wolf under the tree at the Trident. At least now he actually would die happy.

  


Gendry was waiting for him when he reached the practice grounds. He'd agreed to meet Sandor before the duel to warm up. His head pounded from the wine he'd had last night, but he was glad for the help before the fight. 

  


The more he moved, the more he realized that the steel that encased him and protected his body was also slowing his movements significantly. He wasn't able to swing as well in this one as he'd always been able to in the old armor. “Help me get this off,” he growled, and Gendry and the squire that had been watching them came running over. He was quickly rid of the heavy armor, but now the only thing that stood between his skin and the sharp edge of a sword was his mail and studded doublet.  _ It will have to do.  _

  


Another squire trotted over from the courtyard as he was  putting his gauntlets back on. “They're ready, ser.”

  


“I am no ser, boy.”  _ Fuck your sers _ . He'd had about enough of this, growing more bitter about the odds against him in this fight.  He sheathed his sword, rolled his shoulders back, and strode out of the practice grounds,  steeling himself against his fate.

  


 

* * *

  


The courtyard was a humming hive of activity. Spectators were pressed in to its brim, and he had to push people out of the way to make it to the  middle . He couldn't see Sansa, but Arya was standing around the ring in the middle of the crowd, her arms folded across her chest. She looked about as displeased as he felt.  The younger Umber was already in the clearing in the center,  swinging his sword in a figure eight and throwing his arms about to loosen  them up. Now that he was standing so close, Sandor could tell that they were nigh the same height, a rarity in the Seven Kingdoms, but at least it would have made for a fair match if it weren't for the things stacked against his favor. A nervous pit took root in his stomach, and he searched once again for any sign of Sansa.

  


S he appeared just as he had started to turn his head away,  hurriedly walking along the  balcony of the building above them. She'd tied her hair back and her silver crown sat prettily atop the locks, the color of which matched the deep red on her cheeks. He couldn't be sure from where he stood, but her eyes seemed puffy like she had been crying. He was torn between wanting to immediately comfort her, kissing whatever pained her away, and thinking,  _ well, you got us into this mess… _ The Greatjon appeared next to her, rustling her ice blue skirts as he stepped past her. She looked at Sandor for just a moment, locking eyes, before commencing the duel.

  


H e looked at his opponent, both men sizing the other up.  Knees bent, swords raised, they circled around the clearing, trying to judge the movements of the other. Umber swung first, and Sandor easily deflected it. All his thoughts evaporated away, except one: that this was what he was built to do, trained to do, and it was as familiar to him as breathing. There was no need to be worried about its outcome.  But as the other man swung again, and Sandor raised his sword against the other, he heard more than felt his jerkin tearing.  The sword had caught him just in between one of the metal plates sewn into the leather. He was lucky to have his mail underneath it, lest the blade  have  continued along its path.  They pulled back, circling each other again, planning their next moves.

  


S andor swung this time, catching Umber off guard, and the younger man stumbled back, absorbing the powerful blow. He righted himself, running at Sandor and putting all of his weight behind a swing that stuck him right in the side. He felt the wind being knocked out of him, and he sputtered, trying to catch his breath. The crowd gasped behind him. Oddly, the other man waited for him to regain himself, but Sandor caught the words he said to him as he did so. “She's mine, old man, and so is the kingdom.” It wasn't loud enough to anyone else to hear, and he found himself at once being insulted by the description of himself,  _ old man? _ , and the insolence of this youth. He would not  let the North be taken from  his little bird.  Sandor lunged at him, throwing all of his substantial weight behind the thrust of his sword, catching the other man square in the chest and throwing him to the ground. He towered over him, looking at the man in the dirt, with his sword pointed at his throat.  His massive shoulders cast a shadow over the other man's face,  his eyes wide in the shade.

  


“You will not take this from her. She has worked too hard for this. We have all worked too hard for this, and you will not claim this as your own.” Umber looked up at him with absolute fear, Sandor's cold blade pressed at his throat. “But I've no intention to kill you this day.” He bent down, offering his hand to help the man up. He took it after a moment, and Sandor pulled him up. Both sheathed their swords and faced the Queen, her knuckles gripping the wood of the railing hard enough that they were turning white. 

  


H e felt his arm being lifted, and a memory played back in his mind: that of the tourney of the Hand of the King in King's Landing many years ago. He'd fought his brother, and when Ser Loras had raised his arm in triumph, his eyes had drifted to the little lady in the stands, her eyes moist and her pretty mouth smiling. He let his eyes look up to her now, and this time she was crying, but her lips were spread in a wide smile. He pulled his arm away from the Umber, charging through the crowd. 

  


His feet carried him two steps at a time, running up the stairs to where Sansa and the Greatjon were. He reached them, out of breath not only from the physical exertion. The Greatjon met his eyes, hard in their defeat. “So that settles it then, you've won the Queen.”

  


The grey of his eyes sheltered the storm inside him.  _ She isn't anyone's property to  _ win. He was tempted to let the fist that was clenched at his side make contact with the Greatjon's jaw. But it would do no good.

  


“She's not mine to win. She's no one's to  _ win _ .” He looked to Sansa, breaking as soon as he saw the joy on her face. “But I'm hers if she'll have me.”

  


She nodded, and he wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her tiny hands found the collar of his doublet, clasping tightly. And right there on the balcony, in front of everyone to see, her lips claimed his, radiating all the joy and relief and hunger between them.  The saltiness of their tears mingled, no longer restrained.  It was an odd sensation that gripped his chest, and he couldn't put words to it. Pride, mayhaps. But he'd felt that before.  Relief? Yes, that certainly was there. But, no, this was different. Something entirely new. 

  


She pulled back, cupping his cheeks in her hands and meeting his eyes with the blue pools of her own. “I love you, Sandor Clegane.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a shortie to bridge the gap between duel and cottage. :) It will come, my friends. Soon enough! Hold tight!

* * *

Another feast had been prepared in their honor, a bountiful assortment running down the length of the same long table of the night prior. A whole roast pig lay in the middle, its skin darkened from the low fire it had been cooked in. Piles of fresh spring vegetables rose over baskets of warm dark bread, lemoncakes on gilded platters lifted above, sprinkled throughout. The chandeliers hung low, the candles on them throwing their warm flickering light around the room. Wine was in abundance and the cheeks of the guests were rosy with drinking.

 

Sansa sat in the middle, Arya to her right and Sandor to her left, like it should be, like it was last night. The Greatjon sat across from them again, surprisingly in a good mood despite their family's defeat that afternoon. She recalled the story of Grey Wind biting off two of his fingers and laughing it off, respecting the boldness of her brother. She supposed it was due to this, her bravado in suggesting a duel that his spirits remained high.

 

He was leaning in, making conversation with Sandor across the table. Both wore smiles, though she suspected for different reasons. She leaned back in her chair, watching the two as they spoke about past war stories. A contentedness settled over her. This was how it was supposed to be. Surrounded by people she trusted, loved, admired. Everyone's bellies full and nigh a care in the world. She looked over at Sandor, she supposed he was now her betrothed. But she still wasn't sure if he wanted that. Doubt still clouded her emotions every time she looked at him. It was clear that he wanted her body, that he cared about her, but was that enough? Was it enough to spend your life with someone if they didn't love you back? Every other marriage of a high born lady wasn't founded on even that much. But she didn't want to _make him_ marry her if that wasn't what he wanted. She didn't even know if he would want to be king, wasn't sure that _she_ wanted a king.

 

But his face was warm, his scars almost disappearing under the laughter he shared with the old lord across the table. It was hot in the room, and the sleeves of his tunic were pushed up to his elbows. She studied his arm, the strength of it. The long fingers at the end, so desperately did she want to clasp them and run away. Away from all this responsibility, the weight of the well-being of the North ever pressing on her shoulders. She was still for a moment, her hand resting in his forearm, and a thought occurred to her about how nice it would be to be able to share that weight with someone. She ran her fingers along his skin, checking that this was still real, that he was still warm beneath her, his pulse still beating under her palm. Checking that he would always be there. But she knew he would, in some way or another.

 

The night drew on, candles dripping their wax in long feathers, almost touching the table beneath them. Arya and Gendry had already said their goodbyes and headed back to their rooms, Nymeria trotting along after them. She was quite drowsy with wine and the heat from the room, and all she could think of was crawling into her featherbed and sleeping the night away. It still wouldn't be proper to openly invite Sandor back to her chambers, but oh, how she wanted to be curled against him. She leaned over, whispering as quietly as she could to convey such a message. She felt a strong hand grip her knee in understanding, and she politely excused herself from the table, sputtering off excuses about it being such a long day, how she was terribly sorry to be leaving the company of such lovely people, and other words that sounded remarkably well formulated for how tired she was.

 

It was near an hour until he knocked softly on her door and she let him in, sleepily crawling back into the bed she had been dozing in. She didn't even have the strength required to tend to the heat that had pooled between her legs, begging to be coupled with the man settling in next to her. It appeared he didn't either, after the long day they'd both had. Still, she wouldn't have traded the calm that enveloped her as she laid her head on his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin, or the security of the strong arms that wrapped around her, pulling her in close.

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Several days had passed by the time the Umbers and their men departed Winterfell, the whole castle gathering around them as they set out on their horses. Sansa breathed an audible sigh of relief as the gates were closed behind them, and Sandor wrapped his arm around her shoulder, sharing the sentiment with her. He'd been nervous the whole time they'd been there: at first when they had arrived, when he had felt himself succumbing to the fear that Sansa would be taken from him, and then even after it had been settled that he had “won” her, he still found himself wondering when the time might come that he would wake from a dream only to find he had lost. He finally felt he could breathe again, could enjoy the luck he had somehow found himself in.

  


He looked down at his queen, her eyes fixed on the now closed gates. “Have you many important things to do today, my lady?”

  


She shook her head slightly, coming out from the depths of her thoughts. She paused for a moment, contemplating. “No, my lord, nothing that cannot wait.”

  


“Don't start with that, little bird. I am no ser, and I am no lord.” Her eyes narrowed, and he could tell that she picked up on the teasing tone in his voice. “Might I be able to steal you away for a few days?” He hadn't forgotten about the cottage, about how his heart raced when he imagined how she might react. He was both terrified of her being insulted at such an unworthy gesture, and hopeful that she might truly like it.

  


“I think that could be arranged.” She looked up at him, her clear blue eyes matching the exact shade of the sky.

  


* * *

  


They were well on their way to the cottage by mid-day, horses loaded down with supplies. Stranger was particularly petulant, seemingly glaring at Sandor when the saddlebags continued to be filled. The day was clear, a cool spring wind blowing up from the south and pushing at their backs, urging them along. The air was filled with the sweet smell of fresh grass and the perfume of the vivid blue lupines that dotted the hills in the distance. Puffy white clouds drifted by, devoid of any rain on their way to the Wall. He looked back at her occasionally, both trying to remind himself of the reality of this non-dream, and checking to see that she hadn't changed her mind and headed back to the castle. He'd tried to keep the mystery of where he was taking her, but he'd had to clue her in _at least a little_ in order for her to pack her things appropriately. Nearly every time he turned around in his saddle, she had her eyes drawn up to the sky, completely trusting Sandor that he wouldn't lead her horse astray and taking in the beauty of the day. It had been a while since the North had been able to accommodate such weather. The sun beat down on them, warming their skin and shining over her cheeks, raised in the most pleasant of smiles. He wished he could encapsulate the moment forever, her face turned up, swaying slightly in her saddle, looking a bit like a crazed woman basking in the sun.

  


Soon, the shade of the forest engulfed them, the peace of it. Birds called from above in the canopy, scattering their symphony in all directions. In the shade, it was cool and dewy, a welcome change to the warm sun of the afternoon. The deer path he had followed before had grown a little more distinguishable from the many trips he had made, and their horses easily picked their way through the otherwise thick underbrush. Their pace was slow but progressing nonetheless, and the sound of rushing water was audible before long.

  


“Are we almost there?” He heard her chirp from behind him, curiosity getting the better of her.

  


“Almost there, little bird.” He looked back at her, holding back a laugh as they turned to head upstream and he noticed her leaning over her horse. Terror was clearly written on her face as she took in the distance over the cliff to the water. “You're safe little bird, I won't let you fall.”

  


The horse's hooves clattered on the stones at the edge of the cliff, creating a natural rhythmic background to the thrills of the birds flitting over the canyon. He found he much preferred it to the cacophony of the castle, though he had never noticed it before. He'd always been in some sort of city, at least for most of his life. And when he had needed to camp, it had been with Arya, and he hadn't enjoyed it much. But this was different. He wasn't in fear of being captured by the crown, or being killed in his sleep by the little she-wolf; his posture was relaxed, the muscles of the beast underneath his legs carrying him ever-closer to those Elysian fields. His little bird chatted happily with him, her fear of toppling over the cliff faded away. She was relaying stories of her recent town visit and how the townspeople were doing. For all intents and purposes, he usually wouldn't care about any of it, but he saw how the welfare of her people affected her, and he noticed he was rather keen on hearing that they were all doing well for themselves. What is good for the people is good for the crown.

  


It was early evening by the time they neared the hill that carried them into the field of wildflowers around the cottage. He halted their horses with enough distance before they crested it to preserve the surprise.

  


“We're here, my queen.” Dismounting, he walked over to her horse, wrestling with the knot on her favor around his wrist. He managed to unfasten it and hoisted her down from her horse. She met his steely grey eyes and he motioned to the silky fabric in his hand, wrinkled a bit from being wrapped around his wrist. “Here, close your eyes.” She obliged, and he tied the fabric over her eyes, knotting it loosely at the back. “I'll be right back,” he called as he led the horses up the hill, leaving her standing expectantly at the foot of it, the waterfall crashing to her left.

  


Once he'd tied the horses securely to the pole he'd installed near the porch of the cottage, he trotted back over to her. He halted, just as the slope of the hill descended back the way they came, taking in the sight of her. Even after riding for several hours, she was still a pretty little thing. She had her hands clasped in front of her, Tully blue skirts swaying gently in the spring breeze around the curves of her hips. Her hair fell gracefully around her shoulders, only a few shades away from the red of the paintbrush flowers in the meadow behind him. He was glad she still had the tie over her eyes so he could let his eyes wander unashamedly. She turned her head at his footsteps as he approached, his hand reaching for hers and guiding her up the hill.

  


He walked her right into the middle of the field of flowers, luminous in the late sun. “You can look now,” he rasped, his throat dry suddenly from nerves. He was glad that the day had been an especially nice one, drawing out all of the creatures to make it magical for her. Hummingbirds rushed between the wildflowers, hurriedly drinking in the nectar before the sun set. Butterflies lobbied for space, unconcerned with their meandering lines through the air as the light caught their painted wings. The wind rustled the tall grass, a susurrus of the blades rubbing together as the breeze caught them. She reached up to undo the knot on the tie around her eyes, and he heard her breath hitch when she took in the scene in front of her.

  


“What is this place?” Her words were barely over a breath. She extended her hand, letting it brush the tops of the plants around her, her eyes wide and uncomprehending.

  


“I found it a few weeks ago. It was actually just before you set off into Wintertown,” he explained. “Went for a ride to clear my head, stumbled upon this place. I thought you might like it. Its beauty reminded me of you.” He felt foolish for confessing such things, but she seemed pleased. She stooped to smell one of the flowers next to her, a smile coming to her lips as she inhaled its scent.

  


“It's beautiful,” she said as she righted herself. Her hand clasped his and she pulled him down to place a delicate kiss on his lips. “Thank you for bringing me here.” She turned, walking through the colors in front of her, when suddenly she halted. He could see from behind her as her head raised to the horizon that she had caught sight of the cottage in the distance. The cedar boughs hung over the roof he had constructed, reaching only far enough to shade the back half of the structure. Its porch was alight with the warmth of the setting sun. “What's that?” she called back to him, twisting her body and throwing her words over her shoulder.

  


“Go see for yourself.” There was laughter in his voice as he answered, his hope that she might like his surprise for her confirmed. He followed after her as she ran through the flowers, scattering the butterflies and hummingbirds as she cut a path through them. Her hair trailed behind her, the light picking up the different colors of each strand and he thought it looked just like fire, except different from any fire he had ever seen. His memories flashed before him, of following behind another girl, her black hair whipping behind her as she ran through fields of wild mustard, giggling in her excitement to outrun her brother. The same overwhelming feeling clutched at his chest now as it had then, at once pride and a desire to protect, and so many other emotions culminated into one simple one. It occurred to him that his sister had been the last person he'd loved. And now he felt the same as he looked at this woman running in front of him, running to his gift, to his _love._ He was out of breath and laughing by the time he caught up with Sansa, scooping her up in his arms just before the porch and swinging her in an arc around them. She placed her hands on his strong arms when he set her down, happy perplexion on her face. Their breathing calmed, and they simply looked at each other for a moment.

  


“What?” She scrunched up her nose at him, her pretty pink lips spread up in a smile.

  


“I love you, Sansa.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously, though. Have y'all ever been to Montana? Cause, you know, this place could easily be a little cottage in Montana if not for the cedar trees. Replace those with ponderosa pine, and you've got it. I think I kinda miss the mountains a bit.....


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUTTY LEMONS
> 
> :D

* * *

He looked into the depths of the clear blue pools of her eyes, so much like the river that rushed behind them. They were easy and understanding, and she just smiled back at him. It felt as though his heart had stopped beating, its usual constant sound in his ears cut off as soon as he let the words slip from his mouth. His hands around her waist grew clammy despite the fabric of her skirts under them and he realized he was beginning to panic. He'd never said that to anyone; hadn't really known exactly what that was until now, and even then it was a very flimsy grasp of the concept. But still, the face that looked up at him was absent of any judgment, any scorn. He wasn't really sure what he'd expected back from her, from expressing the sentiment. There wasn't any precedent for it in his life.

 

“I know,” she replied simply. But she didn't. She didn't understand what it had taken him to say that, for him to even come to the conclusion that the constriction of his chest had culminated into that one word. _Love._

 

And so he kissed her to start his heart again, and when he did, nothing else seemed to exist but their skin on one another's. His hands moved to thread through those flaming strands, to hold her head as his lips moved over hers, and he felt her hands move from his biceps up to encircle his neck and pull him lower. He kissed her with a ferocity he hadn't expected, but she matched it just as equally, and he realized that they'd needed this. They hadn't been together since that night before she left for Wintertown, not really. He cherished the times they'd been able to sleep next to one another, but the growing tightness in his breeches begged attention. His lips slid lower over her jaw and down her neck, and she sighed a most delicate sigh as he sucked at the skin there.

 

Her hands pulled at his neck, drawing him closer still and she sprinkled kisses over the mass of scars on his face, anywhere she could reach. His palm found the soft prominence of her breast and kneaded lightly, rewarded with more breathy moans from the woman it belonged to. He felt her hands travel down over his stomach as he moved, pulling at the fabric of his tunic. Clumsy fingers worked at the clasp of her brooch, desperately pawing at the delicate metal so they could shed her of her overcoat. Once accomplished, he worked at the ties of her dress, pulling the strings loose and exposing yet another layer.

 

“Gods, why do women wear so many clothes?” he growled, and she giggled. Her hand came to rest over his, stilling his movements.

 

“You haven't even shown me the inside of the cabin, yet.” She looked up at him, trusting, knowing, _wanting_.

 

He clasped her hand and led her up the few stairs of the porch, pushing open the hastily-constructed door. It groaned on its hinges, but as the room opened up, he heard Sansa catch her breath. He didn't think it was much. The roof he'd put over the stone walls already looked like it needed repair, and the bed in the corner was nothing near what she had in her chambers. But she seemed impressed.

 

“You did all of this?” she questioned, running her fingers lightly over the stones of the wall nearest her.

 

“Well, no. I found the structure. But I put on the roof and the door. And the bed-”

 

He was cut off as her lips crashed into his, pushing him back against the wall behind him. It wasn't a small feat; such a petite woman moving such a substantial man, but her urgency caught him off guard. Their hands fumbled with each other's clothing, pulling at ties and yanking at fabric. He spun her around, pushing her against the wall, his massive hands pinning her wrists under them. Eager lips sucked at the tender flesh of her neck, one hand moving down to cup her breast and allowing hers to slide down his back. The thunder in his throat rumbled as she raked her nails up his spine, and he abandoned his grip on her other wrist. It was almost no effort to lift her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, his lips continuing on their path down to her breasts. He could feel the slickness of her desire for him against the hardness of his, and it took all of the restraint he could muster not to take her against the stony wall. _It would not befit a Queen_. He twisted them around, walking the few steps to the featherbed he hauled out to the cabin, throwing her down on the furs.

 

She bounced back up slightly at the drop, her auburn waves settling back down in a fan around her. He took her in, the sight of her. She was all rosy perfection, her porcelain skin dusted with the flush of blood that had rushed to her cheeks, her neck, her chest. Her Tully blues were rounded, doe eyes looking back at him and drawing him in. She reached out her hand, tracing a line down from his collarbone, over the hair of his chest, the ridges of the tight muscles of his stomach, the dip of his belly button. Her fingers followed the trail of hair below his belly button, down, down, encircling the velvety skin of his manhood. He inhaled sharply, hissing at the tantalizing contact. Her other hand found his leg, bent up and resting on the bed next to her while the other remained on the floor. She rubbed at the muscles of his thigh, open palmed and exploring the scars raised up there. She continued her massages, though one in particular caused him to throw his head back, relishing the attention. A thought occurred to her to raise herself forward and place a kiss there. It was a delicate touch, exploratory and curious, and it surprised her when his hand caught her shoulder, pushing her back onto the mattress.

 

He didn't speak, barely met her eyes, as he lowered himself down over her. Powerful arms held him suspended above her body, and he lowered his head down, tasting the sweet-saltiness of skin between her breasts, the unevenness of the skin of her nipple, raised with the sensation. The skin of her belly was raised in infinite miniscule goosebumps and trembled with her giggles as he kissed his way down it. The skin of her folds tasted entirely new to him, though he thought he might just become accustomed to it. He quickly sought out the nub she had directed him to a fortnight ago, happy memories playing in his head when he sucked on it. Her breathing hitched and her hips rose and fell as he continued, spurring him on. It was such a lovely song she was singing, strung together with moans and breathy whispers of his name. She cried out, enjoying the new sensation when his fingers entered her, drawing out her release, and he felt her walls clench around him. He removed his fingers from her, sliding them up to circle her bud as he ran his hand over her whiskers, trying to clean them off a bit before he kissed his way back up her stomach. He was still new to the pleasuring of women, but she seemed happy, a smile over her pretty pink lips, her eyes only half open, but meeting his. Her breathing was heavy but slowing, and he thought that might just be good enough for him. To fall asleep next to her in such a state.

 

He hadn't expected to feel her legs wrap around him once more as he raised up to kiss her, but they pulled him in, into her core. He let a deep groan rumble up from his chest as he felt the heat of her envelope him. He paused, reveling in the sensation of being so completely _with_ a woman that he loved. This was different than the others. She was anyway, but now it was even more so. He didn't think he could have felt this whole. And then her hips rocked under him, drawing him in and out, moving for him, and he woke from his reverie.

 

It was slower than the time before, each relishing in the freedom of the cabin, knowing that no one followed them. They had time. There was no need to rush through it. And so he moved over her for a time, and then they flipped over, her straddling the expanse of his body, his hands on her hips and his eyes entranced by the sight of this woman moving over him. He watched her, the grinding of her hips as she rode him, the sway of her breasts with the movement of her body, her hair falling in a curtain around them as she bent to kiss him. One of his hands found her arse, the other cupping her breast when she righted herself, gently squeezing and then running down her flat stomach, resting at the juncture of their bodies and finding her pleasure spot. He rubbed until her eyes clamped shut, that same expression of pleasure and shock written on her face, and he lost himself in her. Her hips continued their movement over him, and he met them with equal force, bucking into her.

 

She collapsed onto him, pulling a fur with her as she fell to his side and wrapped them up in it. No words found them as she snuggled into the crook of his arm, wrapped around her and holding her close.

* * *

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! Apologies for the long delay in updating; I know I was doing pretty well there for a while updating every day. Just haven't felt very inspired lately and I didn't want to force out a chapter just for the sake of getting another one you there, ya know?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

On their third day away from the castle, Sansa sat perched on a wide flat boulder next to the river while Sandor waded out in the middle, attempting to catch them dinner. She'd wound her hair up into a bun on the top of her head, the sun beating down on her neck and warming her. Long deft fingers pulled flowers from the pile next to her and wound them into a crown. _I'd much prefer this crown… this life…_ She looked to the man in the middle of the river, spear in his hand and eyes scanning the water for fish.

 

She'd watched him the night before, in the still of the evening while they sat around the fire. He'd found a cedar branch earlier in the day, and he sat next to the fire with her, stripping it of excess twigs, shaping it to its purpose. How similar to people it seemed to her; removing the parts that weren't needed in the end. He whiddled at the end of it, carving the tip into three barbed prongs. How he'd thought of it was beyond her, though most of the things he was capable of were out of her grasp. Even though they'd known each other for more than a decade, even though they were so familiar now, he still remained a mystery to her.

 

And now, as she looked upon him, the light on his bare back, crystal clear water rushing against his legs, she thought how he might always be that way to her. She would never be able to understand the things he'd gone through, the brutality of his brother, the loss of his family because of it. Her eyes followed his movements in the water in front of her, watching but not really seeing. Her mind was too busy to really be paying attention. She was lucky to have Arya with her now, but she couldn't imagine losing absolutely all of her family; for her very own brother to be the one who'd taken them. Maybe together they would be able to build their own family…

 

The prospect scared her. It excited her, too, yes, but she was terrified of losing them like they'd both lost everyone else. Maybe it would just be better to just be the two of them. For now, anyway. And besides, they weren't even married. _That's another thing we have to sort out._ They'd spent most of their time at the cabin luxuriating in the idleness of their days, rolling around in bed together each night and sleeping in well into the mornings, talking happily about everything and nothing at all around their nightly campfire. It had been the most pleasant thing in the world to just be with him, but the fact remained that she had a kingdom to run, and that they'd entirely skirted the issue of him effectively winning her hand against the Greatjon's son. She'd still yet to ferret out if he even wanted to be married to her. But she needed to find out before they headed back, and they should be heading back soon if she were honest with herself.

 

A triumphant bark pulled her out of her thoughts, her eyes actually focusing on the man in front of her instead of being mildly aware of his movements. He'd managed to catch one, it seemed, and he was working on removing it from his spear as he picked his way back to shore over the submerged river rocks.

 

“Dinner!” he called over to her.

 

He plopped himself down on the shore next to her boulder, chucking the spear into the grass behind them and extracting his dagger from it sheath on his belt. He set to work gutting it at the water's edge, silver and green scales meeting in a flush of pink along the length of its side. A nice fat trout. It would be a good supper, surely. She smiled down at him, intent on his task and of providing for her. Yes, she certainly could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

It was well into the night when the last of the flames died down from their campfire, giving way to the glowing coals. Sandor sat leaning up against the stone wall of the cabin, his legs stretched out across the porch and crossed at his ankle. Sansa rested her head on his thigh, her body laying perpendicular to his and her calves dangling off the edge, absently swaying. His fingers played with her hair, alternately scratching her scalp and twisting through the locks. A contented sigh escaped her lips. She reached over to grab his other hand, threading her fingers with his and bringing it back to rest on her stomach.

 

“Sandor?”

 

“Yes, little bird?” He looked down at her, adoration plainly written over his features.

 

“I've really enjoyed this time with you.” She honestly meant it, but somehow the words came out sounding like it alluded to something.

 

He hesitated, but filled in the words she had meant to speak. “But all good things must come to an end. I know, little bird. You have to get back to your castle.”

 

She frowned, looking down at their hands resting on her stomach, slowly rising and falling with her breaths.

 

He seemed to sense her reluctance. “This place will still be here for us, you know that. We can come whenever you want.”

 

“No, it's not that. I just…” She paused, trying to draw the courage to ask him the question that had been plaguing her mind since he'd fought Umber. “What are we? What do you want us to be?”

 

“What do you mean, Sansa? We're whatever this is.” He lifted their hands, gesturing to them as they lay on the porch.

 

“But what do you want us to be?” she pressed, wanting a word to define _whatever_ _this_ was.

 

“I want us to be whatever makes you happy,” he replied simply.

 

“That's not what I asked you.” She twisted around, meeting his eyes.

 

“Sansa, I never thought that this-” he gestured again to their bodies, “-would even happen. So, really and truly, I don't know. I _do_ know that I want to do whatever makes you happy. I _do_ know that I love you.”

 

“Do you want to be king?”

 

“Not in particular. I'm not much of a leader. Do you want me to be?”

 

She paused, gathering her words. His fingers continued their ministrations on her scalp. It was almost enough to distract her. “I don't think I do.” She felt him stop for just an instant, barely even detectable if she hadn't been paying such close attention.

 

“Oh.” He sounded defeated. Like someone had just punched the air out of him.

 

“That's not what I meant, Sandor.” She scrambled to repair the damage she'd just done. “I only mean- Gods. I don't know how to say what I mean.” She sat up, facing him, but she found she couldn't meet his eyes.

 

“Spit it out, little bird.” His hands had fallen to his side, his body rigid with steeling himself for what he was sure was going to be rejection.

 

“Let me preface this by saying: I want you.” She saw his muscles relax just a fraction. “But I don't think I want someone superseding me. I don't think you would ever abuse it; I know you. But just the thought, after finally being rid of the situations I've found myself in over the years… I don't want another man ruling over me.”

 

He reached for her hand, running his thumb along the back of it. “I wouldn't dream of taking your throne from you, my Queen. But I understand your hesitation.” He watched his thumb move against the contrast of her perfect porcelain skin. “What do you want?”

 

“You. Us. This,” she swept her arm in front of her, covering the expanse around them. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “...forever.”

 

She watched his lips curl up in a smile, though she wasn't sure if it was from the prospect of _forever_ or just from relief that she wasn't rejecting him.

 

“Sansa of House Stark,” his grey eyes met her blues, calm even though her heart was pounding. “Admittedly, only recently was I able to figure out what the feeling was that I got when I'm around you. I love you. I always have. I always will. When I first met you, I was taken with your beauty, the way you carried yourself. Over the years that I've known you, you've only served to make me more in love with you. I would be honored to spend the rest of my years with you... Will you marry me?”

 

Her head nodded of its own volition, betraying the calm that she was trying to exude, uncontrollable in its movements. “Yes, Sandor of House Clegane,” she couldn't resist the easy chide, the formality he'd used. “Yes, I will.”

 

His lips came crashing down on hers, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her close. She felt the familiar sting of tears under her closed lids, and didn't even try to restrain them, for they weren't tears of mourning, or fear, or regret. They were tears of happiness, overwhelming happiness.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad Sandor always gets me. Always so afraid of someone not truly wanting him. Aww, Sandor, we want you!!
> 
> Let me know what you think!! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one, peeps. This story has been waning for me recently. I've wanted to start working on some other ideas that have popped into my head, but it doesn't feel right just to leave this one hanging, so... may I present you, the conclusion. :)

She ran her hands over her skirts, smoothing out the small creases that had formed there. The day had finally come. She was finally wearing this dress that had taken months to prepare, months of eager anticipation of being able to put it on. Anticipation of meeting the eyes of the man that she loved at the other end of the aisle, under the weirwood tree.

  


Sansa spun around to appraise herself in the mirror: it was everything she had designed, expertly sewn together by the skilled needleworkers in Wintertown. The skirt was long and flowing, full and ivory white, glistening in the fading sunlight streaming in from her window as if it were freshly fallen snow. Intricately stitched and beaded miniscule feathers covered her bodice, a stray bird here and there masked in the stitching. From a distance, it almost looked like the fur on her house's direwolf sigil. Almost. But it was different enough to call her own, and that's what mattered. This wedding was not only two houses being fused into one; it was also two people becoming one, and she thought the design should match her if not her house. Her handmaidens had worked laboriously on her hair, combing and twisting it until the crown of braids around her face shone just as much as the crown placed atop her head. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, the time quickly approaching when she would descend from her chambers, the last time she would do so as a _maiden_. She scoffed at that. It had been almost a year since _that_ was no longer true.

  


One last glance at her reflection and she turned, making her way downstairs and to the godswood. _Goodbye, Sansa Stark._

  


\------

  


Sandor paced anxiously under the weirwood tree. He felt awkward and out of place, his skin crawling at all the eyes on him, waiting for the distraction of their queen. His palms were sweating, _he_ was sweating; _this blasted tunic, bloody cloak…_ It was late summer, and though the weather was starting to cool down, it was still hot. He really didn't see the need for all this finery. _No, she is a queen. And this is what she wanted._ He tried to remind himself, but he just wanted all the fuss to be over. He just wanted her.

  


In the midst of his uncomfortable shifting, his eyes caught movement at the back of the crowd of people. Gendry's head was just visible over the back row, and people hurriedly shifted to part an aisle, giving way to the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. She looked like the maiden herself. Arya and Gendry flanked her, her arms looped through theirs, and she met Sandor's eyes with a reassuring smile. He felt his breath catch in his throat. _This is it._

  


Slowly, they made their way up the aisle, people bowing and cooing as they walked past them until finally, she stood before him, blue eyes glistening and hopeful, meeting his. The septon cleared his throat from somewhere behind Sandor; he hadn't really remembered that there were other people around them, so lost we he in her eyes, in the reality of this actually happening.

  


“Who comes before the old gods this night?” The old man called to the people before him.

  


Arya stepped forward, “Sansa, of House Stark, first of her name and Queen of the North, comes before the old gods this night go beg their blessings. Who comes to claim her?” She looked at Sandor then, imploring him to speak.

  


He was surprised at the strength of his own voice when he rasped his words, “Sandor, of House Clegane.” He paused, knowing that this moment was normally where he would spew off his titles, his reasons for being worthy of claiming her, but he had none. Just his name would have to do. “Who gives her?”

  


“Arya, of House Stark, her sister and Princess of the North.”

  


The septon's voice carried past them, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “Queen Sansa, do you take this man?”

  


“I do,” she replied, a smile across her lips. Gendry walked her to Sandor, and her hand fell easily into her almost-husband's hand.

  


“Then say the words,” the septon instructed.

  


They spoke in unison, repeating the now too-familiar words of the Faith's wedding ceremony; the seven gods, claiming each other as their own. It was sweet, that they were now _each other's._ He pulled the cloak from his broad shoulders, draping it over her slight ones. The mustard and black of House Clegane seemed garish against the snow white of her dress, but he felt a certain sentiment that he couldn't quite express seeing the colors on her.Sandor stooped to kiss her, to seal their marriage.

  


He wasn't sure what he expected; to feel somehow different now that they were officially married. But everything felt the same. The woman by his side still stirred the same feelings from him that she always had, at once his love for her and also the overwhelming, permanent, disbelief that she was now his. Smiling faces looked upon them as they made their way back through the crowd, heading to the great hall to feast and celebrate with their attendants, to revel in their love. He squeezed her hand, just checking once again that this was real, he wasn't dreaming. But he wasn't, and the look on her face as she turned it up to him told him so. This was real. She was his. And he was hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Whaddya think? Comments make my day. ;)


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